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LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY    OF 
CALIFORNIA 


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Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2007  with  funding  from 

IVIicrosoft  Corporation 


http://www.archive.org/details/ekmeansisfurtherOOmeanrich 


By  E.  K.  Means 

E.  K.  Means 
More  E.  K.  Means 
Further  E.  K.  Means 


■41^ 


'Dey  calls  me  Little  Bit.' 
Drawn  by  E.  W.  Kemble. 


K 

FURTHER 
.   K.   MEANS 

Is  this  a  tale?     His  not.     It  is 
the  name  of  a  writer  of  negro  stories, 
who  has  made  himself  so  completely 
the  writer  of  negro  stories  that  this 
third  book*  like  the  first  and  second, 
needs  no  title. 

ILLUSTRATED  BY 

KEMBLE 
G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 

NEW    YORK    AND    LONDON 

^be  Icniclterbocfier  ptcds 

CoPTftlOHT,   1931 
BY 

E.  K.  MEANS 


GIFI 


^t^ 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Left  Hind  Foot i 

The  Traid  Cat  . 

.     136 

The  Consolation  Prize 

.     171 

The  First  High  Janitor      . 

.     212 

Family  Ties 

243 

The  Ten-Share  Horse 

263 

A  Chariot  of  Fire 

286 

M860024 


The  Left  Hind  Foot 


ANGELS 

He  was  the  most  innocent-looking  chap  you 
ever  saw.  He  had  the  face  of  a  cherub,  eyes  which 
inhabit  the  faces  of  angels,  and  a  smile  which  every 
woman  envied. 

During  her  lifetime  his  mother  had  called  him  an 
angel.  His  sister  composed  a  title  for  him  from 
the  initials  of  his  name,  and  for  short  called  him 
Org.  The  neighbors  called  him — if  everything 
the  neighbors  called  him  should  be  recorded,  this 
story  would  have  to  be  fumigated  at  the  very  start. 

He  had  just  come  to  Tickfall  from  California. 
His  mother  and  father  did  not  miss  him  when  he 
left,  for  they  were  dead.  The  neighbors  missed 
him,  but  they  did  not  mourn  his  loss.  When  Orren 
Randolph  Gaitskill  had  gone,  some  predicted  that 
he  would  be  the  loudest  tick  in  Tickfall.  They 
did  not  mean  to  flatter  the  youth  or  pay  him  a 
compliment.  Everybody  breathed  easier,  the 
cats  came  down  out  of  the  trees,  the  little  girls 


2  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

walked  the  streets  without  the  fear  that  their  pig- 
tails of  hair  would  be  used  for  leading  ropes,  and 
the  old  inhabitants  thankfully  prophesied  that 
there  would  be  no  more  earthquakes  in  California. 

As  for  Miss  Virginia  Harwick  Gaitskill,  his 
sister — bless  her!  the  earth  never  shook  when 
she  was  around,  but  the  hearts  of  men  were 
strangely  agitated. 

Everybody  called  Miss  Virginia  an  angel  except 
her  angelic  brother.     He  called  her  "Gince." 

Just  now  that  young  lady  stood  upon  the  portico 
of  Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill's  home,  calling  in  a  clear, 
deep-toned  voice : 

"  Org  1    Oh,  Org !    Come  here ! ' ' 

That  youth,  who  had  been  playing  "Indian" 
upon  the  Gaitskill  lawn,  promptly  dropped  upon 
his  stomach  at  the  sound  of  her  voice,  kept  him- 
self concealed  behind  some  thick  shrubbery,  and 
began,  as  he  expressed  it,  to  "do  a  sneak."  His 
intended  destination  was  the  capacious  stable  in 
the  rear  of  the  premises.     But  he  did  not  get  far. 

"Hurry  up.  Org!  Come  on  here!  I  see  you!" 
his  sister  called. 

Her  last  remark  was  an  absolute  falsehood.  She 
did  not  see  him.  But  angels  have  a  language  of 
their  own.  It  is  not  possible  to  command  their 
attendance  by  ordinary  earthly  methods,  and 
Virginia's  way  succeeded. 

"Aw,  what  you  want,  Gince?  A  feller  can't 
have  no  time  to  himself  when  you  are  around." 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  3 

**I  want  stamps,  Org,"  the  girl  said  sweetly. 
*'Take  this  fifty-cent  piece  and  bring  me  back 
twenty-five  twos." 

"What's  the  name  of  that  there  woman  in  that 
post-office?" 

**Miss  Paunee,"  she  told  him. 

"It  sounds  like  a  mustang  name  to  me,"  Org 
remarked,  pocketing  the  money  ungraciously,  and 
starting  away  with  his  hat  pulled  down  over  his 
eyes. 

A  moment  later  he  assumed  his  former  charac- 
ter, that  of  a  prowling  Indian,  and  his  progress 
toward  the  street  was  from  bush  to  bush  and 
from  tree  to  tree.  He  crept  noiselessly  down  the 
street,  looking  from  side  to  side  with  alert  watch- 
fulness, giving  each  bit  of  shrubbery  and  clump  of 
weeds  a  careful  inspection  in  anticipation  of  lurk- 
ing enemies.  When  he  came  to  the  brow  of  the 
hill  he  ran  downward  at  full  speed.  It  was  easier 
to  run  than  to  walk;  slower  speed  would  require 
the  effort  of  holding  back,  and  a  genuine  Indian 
hates  work.  At  the  foot  of  the  hill  he  stopped  like 
a  clock  with  a  broken  spring. 

There  stood  before  him  a  little  negro  boy,  al- 
most exactly  his  size,  and  apparently  his  own  age. 
Org's  first  impression  was  that  the  stranger  was 
certainly  dark-complected,  there  being  no  varia- 
tion in  the  color  scheme  except  the  whites  of  his 
eyes.  Org's  next  thought  was  that  the  darky  was 
queerly  dressed. 


4  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

He  was  wearing  a  woman's  silk  shirt-waist;  his 
coat  had  originally  belonged  to  some  woman's 
coat-suit,  adjusted  to  the  present  wearer  by  bob- 
bing its  tail.  His  trousers  had  once  belonged  to  some 
man  who  was  much  larger  in  the  waist  and  much 
longer  in  the  leg;  but  the  present  owner  of  the 
nether  garments  had  made  certain  clumsy  adjust- 
ments and  the  trousers  made  a  sort  of  fit.  The 
stranger's  legs  were  covered  with  a  woman's 
purple-silk  stockings,  and  on  his  flat  feet  were  a 
pair  of  high-heeled  pumps. 

"Hello!"  Org  said,  his  eyes  glued  to  the  lady- 
like clothes. 

*'Mawnin',  Marse,  howdy?"  the  little  negro 
responded  timidly. 

*'  My  name  ain't  Marse,  it's  Org,"  the  white  boy 
replied.     *' What's  your  name?    Who  are  you?" 

"Dey  calls  me  Little  Bit.  I's  Cap'n  Kerley's 
white  nigger,  an'  I  sorter  janitors  aroun'  de  Hen- 
Scratch." 

"White  nigger?"  Org  remarked  wonderingly, 
after  a  comprehensive  survey  of  the  negro  boy. 
"The  white  of  your  eyes  is  white.  That's  all  the 
white  I  can  see.     Where  you  going?" 

"Out  to  de  Cooley  bayou  on  de  Nigger-Heel 
plantation.'* 

"Me,  too,"  Org  remarked  as  he  fell  in  step 
beside  the  negro  boy. 

Which  is  the  reason  why  Miss  Gaitskill  waited 
impatiently  the  rest  of  the  day  for  her  stamps. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  5 

Without  knowing  it,  Orren  Randolph  Gaitskill 
had  found  the  greatest  playmate  in  the  world.  Let 
every  man  born  south  of  the  Ohio  River  say 
*'Amen!" 

Little  Bit  was  an  angel,  too.  His  mother  called 
him  *'her  angel  chile."  His  mother  had  fifteen 
other  angelic  children  in  her  cabin.  Little  Bit  being 
the  youngest  and  the  last.  So  his  mother  named 
him  Peter,  after  his  father,  and  Postscript  to  indi- 
cate his  location  in  the  annals  of  the  family ;  thus 
Peter  Postscript  Chew  took  his  place  in  the  world. 

But  white  folks  never  pay  any  attention  to  a 
negro's  name.     They  called  him  Little  Bit. 

In  front  of  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon  in  the  negro 
settlement  known  as  Dirty-Six,  Little  Bit  climbed 
into  an  empty  farm  wagon  to  which  two  mules 
were  harnessed. 

* '  Dis  here  is  Mustard  Prophet's  team.  He's  de 
overseer  on  Marse  Tom's  Nigger-Heel  plantation. 
I  prefers  to  set  down  an'  travel.  It  ails  my  foots 
to  walk.     Mustard'll  let  us  ride." 

**I  rode  in  a  automobile  in  California,"  Org  re- 
marked as  he  climbed  into  the  wagon  beside  Little 
Bit. 

**You's  fixin'  to  ride  in  a  aughter-be-a-mule 
now,"  Little  Bit  snickered. 

Mustard  came  out  of  the  saloon  and  viewed  the 
two  boys  with  a  great  pretense  of  surprise. 

"You  two  young  gen'lemans  gwine  out  wid  me, 
too?"  he  asked. 


6  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

"Yes,  suh,"  Little  Bit  told  him. 

*  *  Gosh !  I  '11  shore  hab  a  busy  day  wid  de  babies, ' ' 
Mustard  growled  in  a  good-natured  tone.  "Dat 
ole  Popsy  Spout  is  in  de  secont  imbecility  of  his 
secont  childhood,  an'  dis  here  white  chile  an*  dis 
cuUud  chile — ^lawdy ! '  * 

He  climbed  upon  the  wagon  seat  and  clucked 
to  his  mules,  driving  slowly  down  the  crooked, 
sandy  road  toward  the  Shin  Bone  eating-house. 

"You  boys  watch  dis  team  till  I  gits  back,"  he 
ordered.     * '  Popsy 's  gwine  out  wid  us. ' ' 

II 

POPSY   SPOUT 

About  the  time  the  boys  had  climbed  into  Mus- 
tard's wagon  in  front  of  the  saloon,  Popsy  Spout 
had  entered  the  door  of  the  eating-house  and  stood 
there  with  all  the  hesitancy  of  imbecility. 

He  was  over  six  feet  tall  and  as  straight  as  an 
Indian.  His  face  was  as  black  as  tar,  and  was 
seamed  with  a  thousand  tiny  wrinkles.  His  long 
hair  was  as  white  as  milk,  and  his  two  wrinkled 
and  withered  hands  rested  like  an  eagle's  talons 
upon  a  patriarchal  staff  nearly  as  tall  as  himself. 

On  his  head  was  a  stove-pipe  hat,  bell-shaped, 
the  nap  long  since  worn  off  and  the  top  of  the  hat 
stained  a  brick-red  by  exposure  to  the  weather. 
An  old,  faded,  threadbare  and  patched  sack  coat 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  7 

swathed  his  emaciated  form  like  a  bobtailed  bath- 
robe. 

The  greatest  bHght  which  old  age  had  left  upon 
his  dignified  form  was  in  his  eyes :  the  vacant,  age- 
dimmed  stare  of  second  childhood,  denoting  that 
reason  no  longer  sat  regnant  upon  the  crystal 
throne  of  the  intellect. 

There  were  many  tables  in  the  eating-house,  but 
Popsy  could  not  command  his  mind  and  his  judg- 
ment to  the  point  of  deciding  which  table  he  would 
choose  or  in  which  chair  he  would  seat  himself. 

Shin  Bone,  from  the  rear  of  his  restaurant, 
looked  up  and  gave  a  grunt  of  disgust. 

'  *  Dar's  dat  ole  fool  come  back  agin, "  he  growled, 
*'Ef  you'd  set  him  in  one  of  dese  here  revolver 
chairs,  he  wouldn't  hab  sense  enough  to  turn 
around  in  it.  I  reckon  I'll  hab  to  go  an'  sell  him 
a  plate  of  soup." 

"Mawnin',  Popsy,"  he  said  cordially,  as  he 
walked  to  the  door  where  the  old  man  stood.  Shin 
reserved  a  private  opinion  of  all  his  patrons,  but 
outwardly  he  was  very  courteous  to  all  of  them, 
for  very  good  business  reasons. 

''Mawnin',  Shinny,"  Popsy  said  with  a  sighing 
respiration.  **I  wus  jes'  tryin'  to  reckoleck  whut 
I  come  in  dis  place  fur  an'  whar  must  I  set  down 
at." 

"I  reckin  you  better  set  down  up  close  to  de 
kitchen,  whar  you  kin  smell  de  vittles.  Dat  '11 
git  you  more  fer  yo'  money,"  Shin  snickered.     **I 


8  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

reckin  you  is  hankerin'  atter  a  bowl  of  soup,  ain't 
you?" 

"I  b'lieve  dat  wuz  whut  I  come  in  dis  place  fer. 
I's  gittin'  powerful  fergitful  as  de  days  goes  by." 

"You  comes  in  here  mighty  nigh  eve'y  day  fer  a 
bowl  of  soup,"  Shin  told  him.  "Is  you  f ergot  dat 
fack?" 

"Is  dat  possible?"  Popsy  exclaimed.  "I  muss 
be  spendin'  my  money  too  free." 

"You  needn't  let  dat  worry  yo*  mind,"  Shin  re- 
plied, as  he  motioned  to  a  negro  waitress  to  bring 
the  soup.  "You  ain't  got  nobody  to  suppote  but 
yo'  own  self." 

"Figger  Bush  lives  wid  me,"  Popsy  growled. 
"He  oughter  he'p  suppote  me  some,  but  he  won't 
do  it.  He  wuz  always  a  most  onreliable  picka- 
ninny, an'  all  de  good  I  ever  got  out  of  him  I  had 
to  beat  out  wid  a  stick." 

' '  Figger' s  wife  oughter  git  some  wuck  out  of  him, ' ' 
Shin  laughed. 

'  *  She  cain't  do  it !  Excusin'  dat,  she  ain't  home 
right  now.  Dat's  how  come  I's  got  to  eat  wid 
you,"  Popsy  grumbled,  digging  the  tine  of  his  fork 
into  the  soft  pine  table  to  accentuate  his  remarks, 
and  then  flourishing  the  fork  in  the  air  for  em- 
phasis.    "Figger  is  de  lazies'  nigger  in  de  worl'." 

Having  uttered  this  remark,  the  old  man  leaned 
back  in  his  chair  and  thrust  the  fork  into  his  coat 
pocket  while  his  aged  eyes  stared  out  of  the  window 
at  nothing.     Shin  noted  the  disappearance  of  the 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  9" 

fork,  but  did  not  mention  it.  The  negro  waitress 
appeared,  placed  the  soup  under  the  old  man's 
nose  and  went  away.    At  last  he  glanced  down. 

'  *  Fer  de  Lawd's  sake !' '  he  exclaimed.  * '  Whar  did 
dis  here  soup  come  from?" 

**You  jes'  now  ordered  it,"  Shin  said  sharply. 
**I  had  a  cullud  gal  fotch  it  to  you,  an'  you  got  to 
pay  fer  it." 

**I  won't  pay  for  it  on  til  atter  I  done  et  it," 
Popsy  growled. 

He  picked  up  a  knife,  started  to  dip  it  into  the 
soup,  found  that  this  was  the  wrong  tool,  and 
thrust  the  knife  into  the  pocket  of  his  coat  to  keep 
company  with  the  purloined  fork. 

Shin  noted  the  disappearance  of  the  knife,  but 
said  nothing.  He  handed  Popsy  a  pewter  spoon 
and  remarked : 

*'You  better  lap  it  up  quick,  Popsy;  she'll  be 
gittin'  cold  in  a  minute." 

''Who'll  be  gittin'  cold?"  Popsy  asked  absently. 
"I  didn't  hear  tell  of  no  she  liavm'  a  cold.  Is  she 
got  a  rigger?  Dese  here  spring  days  draws  out  all 
de  p'ison  in  de  blood." 

"Naw,  suh.     I  says  de  soup  will  git  cold." 

"Aw,"  Popsy  answered,  as  he  dipped  his  spoon 
in  the  liquid  and  sipped  it.  "Dis  soup  am  pretty 
tol'able  good.  Does  you  chaw  yo'  vittles  fawty 
times,  Shinny?" 

"Not  de  same  vittles,"  Shin  said.  "I  chaws 
mo'  dan  fawty  times  at  a  meal,  I  reckin." 


10  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

"Marse  Tom  Gaitskill  says  dat  people  oughter 
chaw  deir  vittles  fawty  times  befo'  dey  swallows 
it." 

"I'd  hate  to  practise  on  a  oystyer,"  Shin  giggled. 
**  White  folks  is  always  talkin'  fool  notions." 

Shin  sat  by  and  watched  the  old  man  as  he  con- 
sumed the  remainder  of  his  soup  in  silence.  He 
also  ate  some  crackers,  drank  a  cup  of  coffee,  to  all 
appearances  unconscious  that  Shin  sat  beside  him. 
Finally,  he  looked  up  with  a  slightly  surprised 
manner  and  asked : 

**Whut  did  you  say  to  me,  Sh^ny?" 

**I  sa^d  I'd  hate  to  practise  on  oystyers." 

*' Practise  whut  on  oystyers?" 

*'Chawin'  one  fawty  times,"  Shin  explained. 

*'My  gawsh!"  Popsy  snorted.  ''Who  ever 
heard  tell  of  anybody  in  his  real  good  sense  chawin* 
a  raw  oystyer  fawty  times  ?  Is  you  gone  crippled 
in  yo'  head?" 

"Naw,  suh,  I " 

The  old  man  did  not  wait  for  the  reply,  but  in- 
terrupted by  rising  to  his  feet  with  the  intention 
of  going  out.  The  spoon  he  was  holding  he  did 
not  lay  down  upon  the  table,  but  carried  it  toward 
the  door  with  him. 

"De  price  is  fifteen  cents,  Popsy,"  Shin  re- 
minded him,  as  he  followed  him  toward  the  frr,nt. 
*'Let  me  hold  yo'  spoon  while  you  feels  fer  yo* 
money." 

"I  didn't  fotch  no  spoon  wid  me,"  the  old  man 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  n. 

whined,  as  he  held  it  out  to  Shin.  '*Dis  spoon  is 
your'n." 

He  paid  the  money  to  Shin,  and  started  toward 
the  door  again,  when  he  was  once  more  intercepted. 

''Lemme  fix  de  collar  of  yo'  coat,  brudder," 
Shin  suggested. 

He  seized  the  old  man  by  the  shoulders,  shook 
the  loose  coat  on  his  thin  shoulders,  and  pretended 
to  fit  it  around  his  wrinkled  neck;  at  the  same 
time,  he  thrust  his  hand  into  the  coat  pocket  and 
extracted  the  purloined  knife  and  fork. 

Popsy  never  missed  them.  In  fact,  he  did  not 
know  that  he  had  them.  Shin  handed  him  his 
patriarchal  staff  and  gave  him  a  slight  push  toward 
the  door. 

At  that  moment  Mustard  Prophet  stood  at  the 
entrance,  "Is  you  ready  to  go  out,  Popsy?'* 
Mustard  asked  cordially,  as  he  shook  hands. 

"Dar  now!"  Popsy  snorted.  ''I  knowed  I 
come  in  dis  place  fer  some  puppus,  but  I  couldn't 
think  whut  it  wus.  I  promised  to  meet  Mustard 
here.  He's  gwine  take  me  out  to  his  house  to 
dinner,  an'  I'm  done  went  an'  et!" 

"Dat's  no  diffunce,  Popsy,"  Mustard  chuckled. 
**  You'll  be  hongry  agin  by  de  time  you  gits  out 
to  de  Nigger-Heel." 

Popsy  stopped  beside  the  wagon  and  stared  in 
pop-eyed  amazement  at  the  white  boy  who  sat 
with  his  feet  hanging  out  of  the  rear  end. 

"Befo'  Gawd!"  the  old  man  bawled.     ''Bar's 


12  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

Kttle  Jimmy  Gaitskill  dat  I  ain't  seed  fer  sixty 
year'!" 

"You's  gwine  back  too  fur,  Popsy,"  Mustard 
laughed.  "Dat's  Marse  Jimmy  Gaitskill's  grand- 
chile." 

"Huh,"  the  old  man  grunted,  as  Mustard  helped 
him  to  a  seat  in  the  wagon.  '  *  De  Gaitskills  look 
de  same  all  over  de  worl'." 

* '  How  does  dey  look,  Popsy  ? ' '  Mustard  chuckled. 

**Dey's  got  de  look  of  eagles,"  Popsy  replied. 

Shin  watched  the  wagon  until  it  disappeared 
around  a  turn  in  the  road.  His  eyes  were  on 
Popsy's  bent  form  as  far  as  he  could  see  it. 

"Dat's  de  biggest  bat  I  ever  knowed,"  Shin 
remarked  to  the  world  as  he  turned  back  and 
entered  his  place  of  business. 


HI 

THE  RABBIT-FOOT 

Two  hours  later.  Mustard  Prophet  stopped  his 
wagon  in  the  horse  lot  of  the  Nigger-Heel  planta- 
tion. 

**  Dis  is  whar  you  mounts  down,  Popsy,"  he  said. 

**Whut  does  I  git  off  here  fer?"  Popsy  asked 
querulously. 

"Gawd  knows,"  Mustard  grinned.  "I  done 
fotch  you  out  to  de  plantation  as  by  per  yo'  own 
request.     Dis  is  it." 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  13 

He  lifted  the  aged  man  down  and  walked  with 
him  to  the  house,  making  slow  progress  as  the  old 
man  supported  himself  with  his  staff  and  insisted 
on  stopping  at  frequent  intervals  to  discuss  some 
vagary  of  his  mind,  or  to  dispute  something  that 
Mustard  had  said. 

At  last  Mustard  assisted  him  to  a  chair  on  the 
porch  and  handed  him  a  glass  of  water. 

"Glad  to  hab  you-alls  out  here  wid  me,  Popsy," 
he  proclaimed.  "Set  down  an'  rest  yo'  hat  and 
foots." 

"I  ain't  seed  de  Nigger-Heel  plantation  fer 
nigh  onto  fifty  year,"  Popsy  whined.  "I  used  to 
wuck  on  dis  plantation  off  an'  on  when  I  wus  a 
growin'  saplin'." 

"Dis  place  is  changed  some  plenty  since  you 
used  to  potter  aroun'  it,"  Mustard  said  pridefully. 
"Marse  Tom  specify  dat  dis  am  one  of  de  show- 
farms  of  all  Louzanny.  I  made  it  jes'  whut  it  is 
now." 

"Dis  ole  house  is  'bout  all  I  reckernizes  real 
good , ' '  Popsy  replied .     "It  ain ' t  changed  much . ' ' 

"Naw,  suh.  I  don't  let  dis  house  git  changed. 
Marse  Tom  lived  here  a  long  time,  an'  when  he 
moved  to  town  I's  kinder  kep'  de  house  like  it  wus 
when  he  lef  it,  only  sorter  made  it  like  hisn  in 
Tickfall.  Marse  Tom  is  gwine  lemme  live  here 
till  I  dies.     He  tole  me  dat  hisse'f." 

"It  shore  is  nice  to  hab  a  good  home,"  Popsy 
said,  looking  vacantly  toward  the  near-by  woods, 


14  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

where  he  could  hear  the  loud  shouts  of  Little  Bit 
and  Orren  Randolph  Gaitskill. 

"Would  you  wish  to  see  de  insides  of  de  house? *' 
Mustard  asked.  '*I  got  eve'ything  plain  an' 
simple,  but  it's  fine  an'  dandy  fer  a  nigger  whose 
wife  ain't  never  out  here  to  keep  house.  Hopey 
cooks  fer  Marse  Tom,  an'  I  got  to  take  keer  of 
things  by  myse'f." 

"It's  real  nice  not  to  hab  no  lady-folks  snoopin' 
aroun'  de  place,"  Popsy  asserted.  "Dey  blim- 
blams  you  all  de  time  about  spittin'  on  de  fio'  an* 
habin'  muddy  foots." 

They  walked  about  the  house  inspecting  it. 
Popsy  followed  Mustard  about,  listening  inatten- 
tively to  Mustard's  talk,  wondering  what  it  was 
all  about.  He  came  to  one  room  which  attracted 
his  attention  because  it  looked  as  though  it  held 
the  accumulated  junk  of  years. 

"Whut  you  keep  all  dis  trash  in  dis  room  fer, 
Mustard?" 

"Dis  ain't  trash.  Dese  here  is  Marse  Tom's 
curiosities,"  Mustard  explained.  "Dis  is  like  a 
show — all  kinds  of  funny  things  in  here." 

The  old  man  stepped  within  the  room,  and  Mus- 
tard began  to  act  as  showman,  displaying  and  ex- 
patiating upon  all  the  interesting  things  of  the  place. 

The  room  bore  a  remote  resemblance  to  a 
museum.  When  Gaitskill  had  first  moved  on  the 
plantation,  nearly  fifty  years  before,  he  had 
amused  himself  by  making  a  collection  of  the 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  15 

things  he  found  upon  the  farm  and  in  the  woods, 
which  interested  him  or  took  his  fancy.  For  in- 
stance, here  was  a  vine  which  was  twisted  so  that 
it  resembled  a  snake.  That  was  all  there  was  to 
it.  Because  it  looked  like  a  snake,  Gaitskill  had 
picked  it  up  and  brought  it  to  the  house  and  added 
it  to  his  collection. 

Stuff  of  this  sort  had  accumulated  in  that  room 
for  years.  Mustard  had  no  use  for  the  room. 
Gaitskill  had  not  needed  it  before  him.  When 
the  overseer  moved  in,  he  had  zealously  guarded 
Marse  Tom's  curiosities.  As  for  Colonel  Gaitskill, 
he  did  not  even  know  the  trash  was  in  existence. 

Mustard  had  added  to  the  accumulation  through 
the  years.  Now  and  then,  in  his  work  in  the  fields 
or  woods,  he  would  find  something  that  reminded 
him  of  something  that  Marse  Tom  had  "saved" 
in  that  room,  so  he  would  bring  it  in  and  add  that 
to  the  pile. 

So  now  Mustard  had  something  to  talk  to  Popsy 
about,  and  he  talked  Popsy  to  the  verge  of  dis- 
traction, proclaiming  all  sorts  of  fanciful  reasons 
for  the  preservation  of  each  curious  object.  The 
old  man  was  bored  as  he  had  never  been  bored  in 
all  his  life.  His  feeble  form  began  to  droop  with 
weariness,  his  mind  failed  to  grasp  the  words  which 
Mustard  pronounced  with  such  unction,  but  Mus- 
tard did  not  notice,  and  would  not  have  minded  if 
he  had  observed  Popsy 's  inattention.  He  intoned 
his  words  impressively  and  talked  on  and  on. 


16  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

At  last  Mustard  opened  a  drawer  and  drew  out 
a  small,  green-plush  box.  He  opened  this  box  with 
impresssive  gestures,  as  if  it  was  some  sacred  ob- 
ject to  be  handled  with  extreme  reverence.  He 
held  the  opened  box  under  Popsy  Spout's  nose. 

' '  Dat's  de  greatest  treasure  we's  got  in  dis  house, 
Popsy,"  he  announced. 

**Whut  am  dat?"  Popsy  asked,  rallying  his 
scattered  wits. 

"Dat's  de  royal  rabbit-foot  whut  fotch  all  de 
luck  to  de  Nigger-Heel  plantation,"  Mustard  pro- 
claimed. ''Marse  Tom  gimme  dat  foot  fifteen 
years  ago.  He  said  dat  all  his  luck  come  from  dat 
foot.  He  tole  me  to  keep  it  an'  it  would  fotch 
good  luck  to  me.     It  shore  has  done  it." 

Popsy  gazed  down  into  the  plush  box.  What  he 
saw  was  a  rabbit-foot  with  a  silver  cap  on  one  end, 
and  in  the  center  of  the  cap  was  a  small  ring  which 
might  be  used  to  hang  the  rabbit -foot  on  a  watch- 
chain  if  one  cared  to  possess  such  a  watch-charm. 

A  few  years  ago  the  rabbit-foot  novelty  was  for 
sale  in  any  jewelry  store  in  the  South,  and  cost 
about  one  dollar.  Because  of  the  negro  supersti- 
tion regarding  the  luck  of  the  rabbit's  foot,  Gaits- 
kill  had  bought  one  for  his  negro  overseer. 

The  white  man  in  the  South  in  his  dealings  with 
the  negroes  is  never  skeptical  of  their  favorite 
superstitions.  In  presenting  the  rabbit-foot  to 
Mustard,  Gaitskill  had  drawn  upon  his  imagina- 
tion and  told  a  wonderful  story  of  the  efficacy  of 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  17 

this  particular  luck-charm.  He  had  been  lost  in 
the  swamp,  so  Gaitskill  said,  and  this  foot  had 
shown  him  the  way  out;  he  had  fallen  into  the 
Gtdf  of  Mexico,  and  this  foot  had  saved  his  life; 
he  had  been  poor,  and  now  he  was  rich;  he  had 
been  sick,  and  now  he  was  well;  he  had  been 
young,  and  now  he  was  old — and  all  because  of 
the  luck  of  that  particular  rabbit-foot.  All  of  this 
emphasized  in  Mustard's  mind  the  importance 
which  Gaitskill  attached  to  the  possession  of  the 
foot,  and  made  him  believe  that  the  white  man 
only  parted  with  it  because  he  wanted  his  favorite 
negro  overseer  to  share  some  of  the  good  fortune 
which  had  come  to  him. 

The  tale  had  so  impressed  Mustard  that  he  re- 
garded that  plush  box  with  its  sacred  foot  as  be- 
ing the  most  valuable  thing  upon  the  Nigger-Heel 
plantation.  He  guarded  it  constantly,  and  would 
have  protected  it  from  theft  or  injury  with  his  life. 

**Dat  is  puffeckly  wonderful,"  Mustard  de- 
clared, gazing  at  the  treasure  with  reverent  eyes. 

**  Yes,  suh,  dat's  whut,"  Popsy  agreed  dreamily 
"Le's  hunt  some  place  to  set  down." 

IV 

BLACK  IS  BLACK 

In  the  meantime,  Orren  Randolph  Gaitskill 
was  out  in  the  woods,  getting  acquainted  with 


18  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

Little  Bit.  He  asked  many  questions,  and  in  a 
brief  time  he  thought  he  knew  all  about  his  com- 
panion. Then  he  made  a  discovery,  so  unex- 
pected, so  overwhelming,  that  it  terrified  him  and 
sent  him  through  the  woods  and  up  to  the  house, 
squalling  like  a  monkey. 

* 'Bar's  a  dandy  swimmin'-hole  over  by  dat 
cypress- tree,  Marse  Org,"  Little  Bit  remarked. 

"I  ain't  been  swimming  since  I  left  the  Pacific 
Ocean,"  was  Org's  reply  as  he  started  in  a  run 
toward  the  designated  spot. 

As  he  ran,  he  began  to  shed  his  clothes.  His 
hat  dropped  off  first  because  that  was  easiest  to 
remove,  then  his  tie,  after  that  his  shirt  was  jerked 
off  and  cast  aside.  He  could  have  been  trailed 
from  the  starting  point  to  the  bayou  by  the  clothes 
he  left  behind  him.  On  the  edge  of  the  water  he 
hopped  out  of  his  remaining  garments  and  plunged 
head-first  into  the  stream. 

Ten  seconds  later,  he  rose  to  the  surface  shaking 
the  water  out  of  his  eyes.  It  had  taken  Little  Bit 
just  that  much  longer  to  undress.  At  that  mo- 
ment. Little  Bit  leaped  into  the  water,  arms  and 
legs  outspread,  his  purpose  being  to  make  as  much 
splash  as  possible. 

He  made  a  big  splash,  but  he  made  a  bigger 
sensation. 

When  Org  saw  that  black  object  coming  into 
the  water  after  him,  he  got  out  of  there.  With  a 
terrified  shriek  he  splashed  to  the  bank,  scrambled 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  19 

up  the  muddy,  slippery  edge,  and  ran  squalling 
across  the  woods  toward  the  plantation-house. 

Little  Bit  was  mystified  and  terrified.  He 
followed  the  shrieking  white  boy  through  the 
woods.  Org  ran  into  the  open  field,  uttering  a 
terrified  wail  at  each  jump.  His  fright  became 
contagious,  and  while  Little  Bit  did  not  have  the 
least  idea  what  it  was  all  about,  he  added  his  wails 
to  Org's  lamentations,  and  the  woods  echoed  with 
the  sounds  of  woe. 

They  scrambled  over  the  fence  and  into  the 
yard  and  ran  screaming  up  the  steps  and  into  the 
house,  just  as  Popsy  had  suggested  that  they  hunt 
a  place  to  sit  down. 

Mustard  ran  into  the  hall  and  confronted  two 
boys,  naked  as  the  day  they  were  born,  both 
screaming  at  the  top  of  their  voices. 

''Shut  up,  you  id  jit  chillun!"  Mustard  howled. 
"Whut  de  debbil  ails  you?  Whar  is  yo'-all's 
clothes  at?" 

The  terrified  white  boy  ran  to  Mustard,  threw 
both  arms  around  his  waist,  and  buried  his  face  in 
Mustard's  coat  tail  to  shut  out  the  awful  sight. 
But  he  did  not  stop  his  screaming. 

"Hey,  you  brats!"  Mustard  whooped.  "Shut 
up  yo'  heads !    Whut  you  howlin'  about  ?    Hush ! ' ' 

Both  boys  suddenly  stopped  screaming,  and 
there  was  a  moment  of  silence.  Mustard  waited 
for  them  to  get  their  breath  and  explain.  All 
sorts  of  things  had  happened  in  Mustard's  varie- 


20  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

gated  career,  but  this  was  new,  to  have  two  boys 
come  prancing  into  his  house  without  a  stitch  of 
clothes  on  their  bodies,  both  screaming  Hke  mani- 
acs. Little  Bit  was  the  first  to  catch  his  breath 
and  speak. 

"Whut  ails  you,  Marse  Org?"  he  asked  in  that 
soft,  drawling,  pathetic  tone,  whose  minor  note  is 
the  heritage  of  generations  of  servile  ancestors. 
**Is  a  snake  done  bit  you?  Is  you  done  fall 
straddle  of  a  allergator  when  you  jumped  in  de 
water  ?    How  come  you  ack  dis-a-way  ? ' ' 

These  questions  served  as  a  sufficient  explanation 
to  Mustard  for  their  lack  of  clothes.  Something 
had  frightened  them  while  they  were  swimming 
in  the  bayou. 

Org  opened  his  eyes  and  peeped  around  Mus- 
tard's hip  at  Little  Bit.  Then  he  stepped  aside  and 
took  a  long  look  at  the  colored  boy's  ebony  body. 

**Why,  Little  Bit,"  Org  exclaimed,  "you  are 
black  all  over  your  body!" 

"Suttinly,"  Little  Bit  agreed  heartily.  "I's 
black  as  de  bottom  of  a  deep  hole  in  de  night-time. 
I's  a  real  culltcd  pusson,  I  is." 

"But — but — I  thought  you  would  be  white 
under  your  clothes,"  Org  exclaimed. 

*'Naw,  suh,  I  ain't  never  been  no  color  but 
black,  inside  an'  out,  on  top  an*  down  under," 
Little  Bit  chuckled. 

"But  you  said  you  were  the  cap*ns  white  nig- 
ger," Org  argued. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  21 

**Dat  don't  mean  white  in  color,"  Little  Bit 
explained.  '*De  cap'n,  he  jes*  calls  me  dat  be- 
cause I  remembers  my  raisin'  an'  does  my  manners 
an'  acks  white." 

"It  'pears  to  me  like  you  boys  is  bofe  f ergot  yo' 
raisin'  an'  yo'  manners,"  Mustard  snorted.  "  Whut 
you  mean  by  comin'  up  to  my  house  as  naked  as 
a  new-hatched  jay-bird?  'Spose  dey  wus  lady- 
folks  in  dis  house — whut  dey  ain't,  bless  Gawd! 
Wouldn't  you  two  pickaninnies  cut  a  caper  runnin* 
aroun'  here  wid  nothin'  on  but  yo'selfs  an'  yo'  own 
skins?" 

"I  was  so  scared  I  left  my  clothes  on  the  creek," 
Org  explained  shamefacedly. 

"I'll  go  back  wid  you-alls.  I  don't  b'lieve  you 
bofe  got  sense  enough  to  find  yo'  gyarments," 
Mustard  grumbled.  "Whar  wus  you-all  swim- 
min'at?" 

As  the  three  walked  out,  Popsy  Spout  stood  for 
a  moment,  his  vacant  eyes  wandering  over  a  room 
full  of  the  most  astounding  accumulation  of  junk 
any  collector  ever  assembled.  It  all  meant  noth- 
ing to  Popsy.  He  was  tired,  awfully  tired.  The 
ride  from  town  had  wearied  him.  Mustard's  talk 
had  wearied  him,  the  pickaninnies  on  the  planta- 
tion seemed  to  make  a  lot  of  noise.  A  long  time 
ago  he  had  asked  Mustard  to  find  him  some  place 
to  sit  down.  He  decided  he  would  prefer  to  lie 
down.     He  needed  rest  and  calm. 

But  Mustard  was  gone  somewhere.     He  could 


22  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

hear  his  bawling  voice  getting  farther  away  from 
the  house  all  the  time.  He  might  be  gone  for  a 
long  time.  He  couldn't  sit  down  on  that  pile  of 
junk.  So  Popsy  walked  feebly  to  the  door  and 
stood  looking  into  the  hall. 

As  he  put  his  hand  up  to  the  door- jamb  to  sup- 
port himself,  he  discovered  that  he  was  holding 
something.  It  was  a  green-plush  box.  He  won- 
dered what  the  box  was.  It  was  probably  some- 
thing, he  could  not  remember  what. 

He  put  the  box  in  the  pocket  of  his  coat,  found 
a  rocking  chair,  sat  down  and  went  to  sleep. 

V 

THE  PLUSH   BOX 

Org  walked  back  to  the  bayou  under  the  escort 
of  Mustard  Prophet.  He  seemed  unable  to  take 
his  eyes  off  of  Little  Bit's  shiny  black  skin.  He 
was  slow  to  overcome  his  amazement  at  his  dis- 
covery that  a  negro  was  black  all  over. 

When  they  were  riding  home  in  big  Mustard's 
farm- wagon,  he  referred  to  it  again. 

*' You're  a  negro,  ain't  you,  Little  Bit?"  he 
asked,  speaking  in  a  softly  apologetic  tone,  as  if 
fearing  to  cause  offense. 

"Suttin!"  Little  Bit  laughed.  'Ts  a  black 
Afiikin  nigger.  Anybody  dat  looks  how  dark  com- 
plected I  is  kin  see  dat." 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  23 

**I  never  saw  many  colored  persons  in  my  life," 
Org  explained. 

*'You  ain't  had  no  eyes  ef  you  ain't  seed  no 
niggers,"  Little  Bit  chuckled.  "Niggers  is  eve'y- 
whar.  Gawd  made  'em  in  de  night,  made  'em  in 
a  hurry  an'  fergot  to  make  'em  white.  Dar's 
niggers  in  heaven,  an'  dars  even  plenty  niggers 
in  hell." 

At  the  Shin  Bone  eating-house,  Mustard  helped 
Popsy  Spout  down  from  the  wagon  and  the  two 
boys  jumped  to  the  ground.  Popsy  entered  the 
restaurant,  walked  feebly  over  to  a  table  and 
seated  himself  with  a  thankful  sigh.  He  took  out 
his  pipe  and  placed  it  upon  the  table  at  his  elbow, 
then  spread  a  red  bandana  handkerchief  over  his 
head  to  keep  the  flies  from  disturbing  him.  Then 
he  sank  into  a  restful  state  of  dreamy  inanity,  his 
mind  just  as  near  empty  as  it  is  possible  for  any- 
thing to  be,  considering  the  fact  that  nature  abhors 
a  vacuum. 

In  one  corner  of  the  room,  the  proprietor.  Shin 
Bone,  was  engaged  in  some  interesting  experi- 
ments with  loaded  dice.  He  seemed  never  weary 
of  his  task  as  he  rolled  the  cubes  across  the  table, 
retrieved  them  again,  and  repeated.  He  tried 
to  familiarize  himself  with  their  vagaries,  to  study 
their  oddities  and  eccentricities,  and  in  his  im- 
agination he  planned  many  victories  and  great 
winnings  through  the  aid  of  these  pet  bones. 

The  process  was  absorbing  to  him.     His  eyes 


24  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

popped  out,  the  whites  showing  in  a  wide  ring. 
His  breathing  was  quick  and  husky  as  he  shook 
the  dice,  and  he  muttered  prayers  and  impreca- 
tions and  incantations.  Sometimes  he  threw  the 
dice  with  one  hand,  sometimes  with  the  other ;  he 
used  certain  luck  charms,  changing  them  from  one 
pocket  to  the  other,  practising  and  experimenting 
with  every  sort  of  "conjure,"  for  he  expected  those 
little  white  cubes  with  the  black  spots  to  bring 
him  the  money  with  which  to  make  a  loud  noise 
in  Tickfall  colored  society. 

Popsy  roused  himself  from  his  dreamy  vacuity 
and  felt  in  his  pocket  for  his  tobacco-pouch.  He 
would  take  a  little  smoke  before  dinner.  He  found 
the  tobacco-pouch,  also  something  else. 

He  brought  forth  a  green-plush  box  and  looked 
at  it  curiously.  He  opened  it  with  hands  which 
shook  from  senile  palsy  and  examined  its  con- 
tents. It  was  a  rabbit-foot  surmounted  with  a 
silver  cap  on  one  end.  He  wondered  where  he 
had  acquired  the  thing. 

"Come  here.  Shinny!"  he  called.  "Look  whut 
I  done  found  on  myse'f." 

Shin  Bone  crossed  the  room,  gazed  at  the 
treasure  for  a  moment,  and  gave  a  surprised  grunt. 

"Whar  did  you  git  dis  rabbit-foot?"  he  in- 
quired suspiciously. 

"I  dunno.  Shinny,"  the  old  man  replied  in  a 
complaining  voice.     ' '  Whut  is  it  fur  ? ' ' 

"Lots  of  folks  has  rabbit-foots,"  Shin  said.    "I 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  25 

don't  b'lieve  in  'em.  I  got  four,  an'  dey  don't 
fotch  me  no  luck.     Whar  did  you  git  dis'n?" 

''I  dunno." 

"Whar  you  been  at  to-day?"  Shin  asked. 

**Well,  suh,  early  dis  mawnin'  I  went  to  de 
Shoofly  chu'ch  an*  conversed  de  Revun  Vinegar 
Atts  a  little ;  atter  dat,  I  went  out  to  de  Nigger- 
Heel  wid  Mustard  Prophet — ah — dat's  whar  I 
got  dis  here  foot.  Mustard  gib  it  to  me.  He  es- 
plained  a  whole  lot  about  it  an'  tole  me  dat  Marse 
Tom  gib  it  to  him,  an'  he  passed  it  on." 

'*Whut  yo  gwine  do  wid  it?"  Shin  asked. 

**  'Tain't  no  good  to  me,"  Popsy  whined,  work- 
ing at  his  tobacco-pouch  and  shaking  some  tobacco 
in  his  hand.  "De  only  luck-charm  I  b'lieves  in  is 
de  chu'ch.  Ef  de  good  Lawd  is  on  yo'  side,  who 
kin  be  agin  you?" 

Shin  Bone  knew  better  than  to  get  Popsy  started 
in  a  discussion  of  religion.  His  conversation  on 
that  theme  was  interminable.  Besides,  the  plush 
box  lying  on  the  table  between  them  had  awakened 
several  interesting  trains  of  thought : 

First,  he  knew  Popsy  had  a  trick  of  putting 
things  into  his  pocket  and  walking  off  with  them, 
forgetting  where  he  acquired  them,  and  even  fail- 
ing to  remember  what  they  were  for.  Second,  he 
remembered  that  Mustard  Prophet  had  often  at- 
tributed much  of  his  good  fortune  to  the  possession 
of  a  rabbit-foot.  Thirdly,  he  knew  that  Colonel 
Gaitskill  also  had  a  rabbit-foot,  for  he  had  often 


26  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

heard  him  refer  to  it  in  his  hearing  and  in  the 
presence  of  the  other  negroes. 

Now,  did  Popsy  inadvertently  take  possession 
of  Gait  skill's  rabbit-foot?  Or  did  he  absent- 
mindedly  walk  off  with  Mustard's  foot?  Or  did 
Mustard  give  his  famous  luck-charm  away  ?  Shin 
doubted  this  last  supposition.  If  a  luck-charm  is 
good,  it  is  very,  very  good.  Or  did  Mustard  steal 
Gaitskill's  rabbit-foot  and  Popsy  take  it  from 
Mustard? 

Popsy  lighted  his  pipe  and  began  to  smoke. 
Shin  Bone  decided  that  he  could  make  nothing 
of  the  mystery.  A  rabbit-foot  was  no  good  to  him. 
He  had  tried  them  before.  But  loaded  dice,  now — 
he  pulled  the  **  bones"  from  his  pocket  and  renewed 
his  former  operations. 

In  the  kitchen  a  bell  rang.  A  number  of  patrons 
who  had  been  lingering  outside  came  through  the 
door  and  seated  themselves  at  the  table.  Shin 
Bone  arose  to  bring  in  the  dinner.  Popsy  knocked 
the  ashes  from  his  pipe  and  got  ready  to  eat. 

As  for  Org  and  Little  Bit,  they  did  not  get  back 
to  the  Gaitskill  home  until  the  sun  had  sunk  below 
the  line  of  the  tree-tops.  And  not  until  Orren  Ran- 
dolph Gaitskill  beheld  his  sister  sitting  upon  the 
porch  did  he  think  of  the  errand  on  which  she  had 
sent  him  ten  hoiu-s  before. 

His  small  hand  investigated  his  trouser-pocket, 
to  see  if  he  was  still  in  possession  of  the  fifty- 
cent  piece.    He  might  have  lost  it  when  he  tossed 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  2^ 

aside  his  garments  on  the  banks  of  the  Cooley 
bayou. 

"Org!"  Virginia  called  sharply.  "Where  are 
those  stamps?" 

Org's  nervous  fingers  caressed  the  half-dollar  in 
his  pocket.  His  mind  reached  out  like  the  tentacles 
of  an  octopus,  grasping  after  an  excuse. 

"Where  are  my  stamps?"  she  repeated. 

*  *  Er — ah — I  went  down-town, ' '  Org  began.  * '  I 
went  down-town — and — er — ah — Miss  Paunee, 
that  mustang  woman  in  the  post-office — she  told 
me — she  said " 

"Well?"  Virginia's  tone  was  icy. 

"Miss  Paunee — she  told  me — ah — she  said  she 
didn't  have  no  two-cent  stamps;  she  had  sold 
out." 

If  the  glance  of  a  sister's  eye  could  kill,  most 
brothers  would  now  be  dead.  Org  survived  the 
look  she  gave  him,  and  sheepishly  offered  her  the 
fifty-cent  piece. 

"You  don't  need  no  stamps,  Gince,"  Org  said 
soothingly.  "Them  guys  you  left  behind  ain't 
worth  writing  letters  to." 

"Please  keep  your  opinions  to  yourself,"  his 
sister  advised.  "Where  have  you  spent  the 
day?" 

"I  have  been  to  the  Nigger-Heel  plantation 
with  Little  Bit.  Little  Bit  is  a  colored  person  and 
a  very  good  friend.  A  colored  man  named  Mustard 
took  me  out  in  a  wagon  and  brought  me  back," 


28  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

Org  informed  her.  Then  eagerly:  **Say,  Gince, 
do  you  know  that  a  negro  is  black  all  over  his  body, 
even  under  his  clothes?" 

"Where  did  you  meet  these  blacks?"  Virginia 
asked,  avoiding  Org's  question  as  to  the  color- 
line. 

'*I  met  Little  Bit  at  the  foot  of  the  hill.  He 
told  me  he  was  the  captain's  white  negro.  I  met 
Mustard  Prophet  in  front  of  the  Hen-Scratch 
saloon  in  Dirty-Six.  We  picked  up  Popsy  Spout 
at  Shin  Bone's  hot-cat  stand  in  Hell's  Half- 
Acre!" 

Under  this  appalling  summary  of  information, 
Miss  Virginia  reeled  back  in  dismay. 

**No  doubt,"  she  said  weakly. 

**If  you  want  to  save  stamps,  Gince,"  Org  sug- 
gested eagerly,  ''you  better  write  to  Little  Bit's 
captain  and  let  me  carry  the  notes  for  you.  I  saw 
the  captain  when  we  were  coming  home.  He's 
got  a'  automobile  as  big  as  a  street-car.  He  was 
in  the  army  and  a  German  shot  him " 

A  slight  flush  appeared  on  Miss  Virginia's  cheek. 
It  spread  slowly,  like  the  unfurling  of  some  flag — 
the  star-spangled  banner  for  instance. 

**I  don't  care  to  hear  the  personal  history  of  the 
acquaintances  you  have  made  to-day,"  Miss 
Virginia  interrupted. 

*'His  name  is  Captain  Kerley  Kerlerac,  Gince," 
Org  persisted.  ''Little  Bit  told  me.  Little  Bit, 
my  colored  friend,  is  the  captain's  pet  coon." 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  29 


VI 

THE  RAFT 

In  Tickfall,  religion  was  reduced  to  the  least 
common  divisor.  That  is  to  say,  there  was  one 
church  for  the  white  people  and  one  for  the  black. 
The  white  children  felt  that  they  were  imposed 
upon  by  the  older  and  more  dominating  members 
of  their  families  in  that  they  were  made  to  go  to 
Sunday-school,  whereas,  the  black  children  were 
permitted  by  their  parents  to  grow  up  in  that  ig- 
norance which  is  bliss. 

Org  had  no  particular  love  for  religious  instruc- 
tion. All  the  time  that  he  was  trying  to  learn  a 
sufficient  portion  of  that  day's  lesson  to  satisfy  his 
teacher,  he  was  thinking  of  a  buzzard's  nest  which 
Little  Bit  had  told  him  about,  a  buzzard's  nest 
which  contained  two  baby  buzzards,  both  of  them 
white  as  snow.  If  that  buzzard's  nest  had  been 
concealed  in  some  Sunday-school  book — but  Org 
never  found  anything  interesting  in  a  Sunday- 
school  book.  What  little  he  knew  of  that  day's 
portion  of  the  Scripture  had  been  imparted  to  him 
by  the  laborious  efforts  of  his  sister,  and  he  was 
now  walking  down  the  hill  toward  the  church, 
mumbling  his  newly  acquired  information  to 
himself. 

"Whar  you  gwine,  Marse  Org?" 

** Sunday-school.     Come  and  go  with  me." 


30  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

**Ain't  fitten,"  Little  Bit  giggled.  *'A  little 
black  coon  like  me  ain't  got  no  place  in  a  white 
chu'ch.  Excusin'  dat,  I  janitors  in  a  saloon,  an' 
Sunday-schools  ain't  made  fer  such." 

*'I'll  tell  you  all  I  know  about  the  lesson,"  Org 
urged.  ''Listen:  Methusalem — oldest  man  ever 
was:  nine  hundred  and  sixty-nine  years  old — 
was  not,  for  God  took  him — gathered  to  his 
fathers " 

''How  ole  you  say  he  wus  gwine  on  when  he 
died?"  Little  Bit  asked. 

*'Nine  hundred  and  sixty-nine  years." 

"Whoop-ee!  Whut  did  de  ole  gizzard  die  of 
when  he  died?" 

"I  dunno,"  Org  replied.  "He  died  of  smoking 
cigarettes,  I  reckon.  If  you  go  with  me,  we'll  ask 
the  teacher." 

"I  mought  Stan'  outside  behime  de  chu'ch  while 
you  axed,"  Little  Bit  said  doubtfully.  "Who  am 
dis  here  teacher?" 

"Captain  Kerley  Kerlerac." 

"I  ain't  gwine  to  no  Sonday-school  to  ax  my 
boss  nothin',"  Little  Bit  said  positively.  "Dat 
white  man  don't  'low  no  niggers  to  pesticate  him 
wid  'terrogations.     I  knows ! ' ' 

Org  was  not  willing  to  part  with  his  companion. 
He  could  have  a  great  deal  more  fun  with  Little 
Bit  than  he  could  contemplating  the  career  of  a 
man  who  had  lived  nearly  a  thousand  years  and 
had  been  dead  for  several  thousand  more.     Be- 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  31 

sides,  he  was  a  little  skeptical  of  the  alleged  age  of 
that  old  party.  So  when  Org  came  to  a  corner 
where  he  should  have  turned  to  the  right,  he  turned 
to  the  left,  and  from  that  time  on  there  was  a 
vacant  chair  in  the  Sunday-school. 

The  old  cotton-shed  on  the  edge  of  the  Gaits- 
kill  sand  pit  was  the  first  thing  to  attract  the  at- 
tention of  the  pair.  In  that  storehouse,  they 
found  an  old  cotton-truck,  and  a  door  which  had 
been  torn  off  the  hinges  and  was  lying  on  the  floor 
near  the  office. 

They  found  amusement  for  a  while  by  pulling 
each  other  around  on  the  truck.  Then  they  sat 
down  in  the  door  to  cool  off  and  gazed  out  over  an 
expanse  of  water  which  formed  a  shallow  pond  in 
the  sand  pit. 

*'If  we  could  get  this  old  broken-down  door  over 
to  that  pond,  we  could  have  a  raft  to  ride  on,"  Org 
remarked. 

'"Tain't  no  trouble,"  Little  Bit  replied.  "Jes' 
load  de  door  onto  de  cotton-truck  an'  push  de 
truck  down  to  de  pond." 

"You  are  certainly  intell'gent,  Little  Bit,"  Org 
exclaimed  admiringly  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

**Pushin'  things  an'  liftin'  things  an'  loadin' 
things — dat's  a  cullud  pusson's  nachel-bawn  job,'* 
Little  Bit  chuckled.  '"Tain't  no  trouble  fer  a 
nigger  to  think  up  dat." 

**  Let's  get  this  door  on  the  truck  and  move  our 
raft,"  Org  urged. 


32  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

It  was  not  hard  to  do.  The  pine  door  was  not 
very  heavy,  and  from  the  time  they  got  it  out  of 
the  building,  the  route  was  down  hill  to  the  edge 
of  the  pond.  They  pushed  the  truck  into  the 
water,  easily  floated  the  door  off,  and  then  tugged 
mightily  to  drag  the  truck  back  to  the  empty 
storehouse  again. 

They  found  two  long  poles  which  would  serve 
to  steer  with,  and  raced  back  to  the  edge  of  the 
pond  and  climbed  aboard  their  raft. 

The  door  sustained  them  just  as  long  as  most  of 
their  weight  was  on  their  poles,  and  they  were  try- 
ing to  push  off.  At  last  they  worked  their  raft 
out  to  about  four  feet  of  water  and  felt  free  to  lift 
their  steering-poles  and  ride. 

Then  that  door  slowly  sank  under  their  weight 
imtil  the  water  was  up  to  their  knees,  to  their 
waists,  to  their  shoulders.  It  stopped  in  its  down- 
ward joiu-ney  when  it  rested  on  the  sandy  bottom, 
and  the  two  lads  stood  on  it,  looking  at  each  other 
with  the  utmost  astonishment,  raising  their  chins 
to  keep  the  water  out  of  their  mouths. 

"You  done  got  yo'  nice  Sunday  clothes  all  wet," 
Little  Bit  sighed. 

"Yours  are  wet,  too,"  Org  retorted. 

"Dis  here  is  my  eve'y-day  suit.  I  ain't  got 
no  all-Sonday  gyarments.  I  wears  dese  ladylike 
clothes  all  de  time." 

"I'm  sorry  you  spoilt  your  only  suit,"  Org 
S3mipathized. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  33 

**  Tain*t  spiled — ^it's  jes*  wet,"  Little  Bit  replied. 
**Whut  is  us  gwine  do  now?" 

*' We're  both  wet.  We  might  as  well  have  a 
good  time,"  Org  suggested  philosophically. 

**I  likes  good  times  an'  dis'n  is  started  off  real 
good,"  Little  Bit  laughed.  "You  git  off  en  dis  ole 
door  an'  le's  see  ef  it  will  hold  me  up." 

VII 

LOST   BOYS 

About  four  o'clock  that  afternoon  somebody  in 
the  Gaitskill  home  asked  where  Orren  Randolph 
Gaitskill  was.  He  had  not  been  seen  since  he  left  the 
house  that  morning  to  attend  the  Sunday-school, 

Miss  Virginia  Gaitskill  called  Captain  Kerley 
Kerlerac  on  the  telephone  and  asked  if  Orren  had 
been  in  his  class  that  morning. 

When  a  devilish  boy  happens  to  be  the  brother 
of  an  angelic  girl,  even  a  disillusioned  war- veteran 
finds  that  lad  possessed  of  qualities  which  he  loves 
and  admires  for  the  boy's  sister's  sake. 

Kerlerac  informed  her  that  he  had  missed  Orren 
very  much,  that  he  was  the  brightest  boy  in  his 
class,  that  all  the  others  had  made  anxious  inquiry 
about  him,  that  he  was  about  to  call  at  the  Gaits- 
kill home  to  inquire  if  Orren  was  sick. 

The  answer  which  he  heard  to  this  panegyric 
was  a  giggle. 


34  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

*' Hello!    Hello!    What's  that?"  he  exclaimed. 

The  telephone  clicked  in  his  ear,  indicating  that 
she  had  hung  up  the  receiver. 

Kerley  stood  at  the  telephone  scratching  his 
head,  a  wry  smile  on  his  lips. 

' '  I  believe  that  giggle  meant  that  she  called  me  a 
liar, ' '  he  announced  to  his  immortal  soul.  A  remi- 
niscent light  beamed  in  his  eyes.  ''She  hasn't 
changed  in  the  past  fifteen  years — little  spitfire!" 

For  half  an  hour  Miss  Virginia  found  something 
else  to  think  about  besides  her  wandering  brother, 
but  as  the  evening  wore  on,  and  he  did  not  appear, 
she  began  to  get  uneasy  again. 

* '  That  dang  boy  has  played  hookey  and  gone  out 
in  the  woods  with  that  pickaninny,"  Colonel  Gaits- 
kill  announced. 

* '  Oh,  maybe  he's  lost  in  the  swamp ! ' '  Virginia 
gasped. 

"No  danger  of  that,"  Gaitskill  said  easily. 
"These  little  niggers  around  here  can  go  across 
that  swamp  like  a  fox.     They  can't  get  lost." 

But  as  the  shadows  lengthened  across  the  Gaits- 
kill  lawn  the  women  of  the  household  were  thrown 
into  a  panic.  They  insisted  that  it  was  not  a 
natural  or  ordinary  thing  for  Orren  to  miss  his 
meals;  that  a  hungry  boy  might  be  having  a  very 
good  time  at  some  amusement,  but  he  would  always 
be  willing  to  postpone  his  play  to  eat,  resuming  his 
play  after  this  meal. 

'  *  That's  so. ' '  Gaitskill  admitted.     ' '  When  I  was 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  35 

a  boy  nothing  was  ever  more  attractive  to  me  than 
the  consumption  of  food,  and  I  enjoy  being  regular 
at  my  meals  now.  But,  maybe  he  ate  his  lunch 
somewhere  else?" 

By  telephone  they  made  inquiry  of  every  place 
where  they  thought  Orren  could  have  eaten.  He 
had  not  been  seen  at  any  of  those  places. 

Gaitskill  saw  that  he  was  going  to  have  to  get 
out  and  hunt  that  boy.  The  prospect  did  not 
appeal  to  him.  That  boy  was  a  nuisance.  If  he 
was  lost,  it  was  good  riddance.  He  wasn't  worth 
finding — let  him  find  himself.  He  went  to  the 
telephone  and  called  up  Captain  Kerley  Kerlerac. 

"Say,  Kerl,  where's  that  damn  little  pet  nigger 
of  yours?" 

** Haven't  seen  him  to-day.  Colonel." 

**He's  run  off  somewhere  with  Orren,  and  Orren 
hasn't  come  home  yet." 

**I'll  find  him,"  Kerley  said  eagerly. 

"Oh,  no!  Don't  trouble  yourself,"  Gaitskill 
smiled.  "I  just  wanted  to  know  about  Little 
Bit." 

Gaitskill  sat  down  with  a  sly  grin.  He  was  get- 
ting old,  he  reflected,  and  the  strenuous  life  was 
no  longer  attractive.  If  a  searching  party  should 
have  to  be  organized,  he  had  now  laid  its  founda- 
tion. It  was  a  certainty  that  Kerlerac  would  or- 
ganize the  party  and  lead  the  search.  Good  old 
Kerl  would  see  that  Virginia's  brother  was  not  lost. 

It  does  not  take  a  rumor  long  to  spread  over  a 


36  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

little  village.  In  a  brief  time,  it  was  known  to  the 
remotest  parts  of  Tickfall  that  Little  Bit  and  Orren 
Gaitskill  were  lost. 

Little  Bit's  mother,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she 
had  fourteen  others  just  like  him  in  her  cabin, 
aroused  all  the  negro  section  of  the  town  by  her 
frantic  wails.  She  announced  in  a  voice  like  a 
calliope  that  she  knew  that  her  angel  child  had 
fallen  into  a  well,  had  been  eaten  by  an  alligator, 
had  been  bitten  by  a  snake,  had  been  drowned  in  a 
bayou,  had  been  stolen  and  carried  away  by  white 
folks,  had  been  lost  in  the  swamp — and  she  howled 
like  a  banshee  over  each  one  of  these  possibilities, 
and  others  of  the  same  general  nature  as  she 
thought  of  them. 

A  great  bellow  of  excitement  went  up  from  all 
the  negroes,  and  a  band  of  them  hurried  to  the 
home  of  Captain  Kerlerac  to  inquire  the  latest  in- 
formation about  Little  Bit.  Their  excitement 
was  contagious,  and  the  captain  caught  it,  the 
white  citizens  of  the  town  were  inoculated,  and  in 
an  incredibly  short  time  the  town  was  seething 
with  an  intense  desire  to  organize  a  search-party 
and  explore  the  woods  for  the  lost  boys. 

"We'll  wait  until  night,  men,"  Kerlerac  said. 
**If  the  boys  don't  come  in  by  dark,  we  will  go 
out  on  the  Little  Moccasin  Road  and  build  fires  on 
the  highway  for  ten  miles.  Wherever  they  may  be 
in  the  swamp,  they  will  see  that  trail  of  fire  and 
come  to  it.'* 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  37 

**That*s  the  way  to  do  it,"  several  approving 
voices  spoke. 

"Don't  bother  Colonel  Gaitskill  with  it,"  Kerley 
suggested.  "He's  getting  too  old  to  be  running 
around  at  night  and  exposing  himself.  If  the 
boys  don't  come  in  by  dark,  I  will  ring  the  court- 
house bell.     Meet  me  there." 

It  had  not  been  very  long  since  Kerlerac  had 
been  a  boy  himself.  He  knew  every  spot  in  that 
vicinity  which  was  dear  to  boys,  white  and  black. 
He  listed  each  one  in  his  mind  and  started  on  a  lone 
search  to  each  of  these  places. 

His  automobile  carried  him  first  to  all  the  swim- 
ming-holes, then  to  the  old  picnic-grounds,  then 
to  the  old  tabernacle,  where  the  negro  camp- 
meetings  were  held,  to  the  pool  where  the  colored 
members  of  the  Shoofiy  church  conducted  their 
baptizings,  to  the  old  stables  and  sheds  around  the 
fair-grounds.  Finally,  he  left  his  machine  beside 
the  road  and  walked  across  the  field  to  the  old 
cotton-shed  beside  the  sand  pit. 

The  noise  of  shouting  and  laughter  came  to  him 
before  he  arrived  upon  the  scene.  It  was  no 
trouble  to  locate  the  two  boys  as  they  splashed  and 
paddled  and  fought  with  water  and  dived  to  the 
bottom  to  rise  with  a  handful  of  sand  to  throw  at 
each  other. 

Time  had  ceased  to  move  for  those  two  young- 
sters. Sunrise  and  sunset  were  just  the  same  to 
them.    A  score  of  apple-cores  strewn  along  the 


38  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

sandy  shore  indicated  that  they  had  lunched  well 
and  were  not  hungry. 

"Hey,  you!"  Kerley  called. 

The  two  boys  looked  up  with  surprise. 

"Come  out  of  that  water!"  Kerley  commanded. 
"Don't  you  know  it  is  nearly  night?" 

The  astonishment  on  their  faces  when  in- 
formed of  the  passage  of  time  indicated  that  they 
had  been  completely  engrossed  with  their  amuse- 
ment. 

They  climbed  out  of  the  water  near  Kerlerac  and 
gave  that  gentleman  a  surprise. 

* '  You've  both  got  on  your  clothes ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"Are  you  too  lazy  to  strip  when  you  take  a  Sunday 
swim?" 

"Naw,  suh.  But  our  fust  swim  wus  a  mistake, 
Marse  Cap'n,"  Little  Bit  chattered,  chilled  by  the 
wind  after  his  day  of  activity  in  the  water.  "Us 
got  on  a  raff  an'  de  raff  wouldn't  hoi'  us  up." 

'  *  Don't  report  to  me, ' '  Kerley  laughed.  ' '  March 
along  home  now !     Right  face !     Forward ! ' ' 

A  little  later  Kerlerac  marched  the  two  wet 
youngsters  upon  the  lawn  and  made  them  stand  at 
attention  in  the  presence  of  a  dozen  hysterical 
women. 

"Here  are  your  mud-cats.  Colonel,"  he  smiled. 
"I  found  them  paddling  in  the  pond  in  the  old 
sand  pit." 

"I  didn't  intend  to  get  wet.  Uncle  Tom,"  Org 
began,  "but  the  raft  was  not  large  enough '* 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  39 

*'That*s  enough  for  you,"  Gaitskill  cut  him  off. 
**Go  around  to  the  rear  of  the  house." 

Miss  Virginia  Gaitskill  stood  upon  the  steps 
smiling. 

**I  think  I  knew  you  once,  Miss  Gaitskill," 
Kerlerac  said.     "We  were  both  younger  then." 

"You  were  seven  and  I  was  five,"  Virginia 
smiled,  as  she  extended  her  hand. 

"I  remember,"  Kerlerac  answered.  "You  gave 
me  a  chocolate  rat  with  a  rubber  tail.  I  could 
hold  the  tail  and  bounce  the  rat,  or  I  could  lay  the 
rat  down  and  watch  it  wiggle  its  tail  very  lifelike. 
I  ate  that  rat,  rubber-tail  and  all." 

"You  gave  me  a  rabbit-foot  in  a  green-plush 
box,"  Virginia  laughed.  "I  did  not  eat  the  foot 
or  the  box.     I  have  them  both  yet." 

"I  have  something  that  you  did  not  give  me," 
Kerlerac  said  earnestly.  "  I  stole  it  from  you.  I 
carried  it  through  three  battles  across  the  sea.  It 
is  your  picture  as  you  were  then." 

"Have  I  changed  since  then?"  the  girl  asked, 
because  she  did  not  know  what  else  to  say. 

"Yes.  The  photograph  I  have  of  you  shows  a 
little  spitfire  girl  astride  of  a  wabble-wheeled 
velocipede." 

"Oh — "  that  young  lady  gasped. 


40  The  Left  Hind  Foot 


VIII 

THE  LOST  FOOT 

A  moving-picture  of  the  performances  of  Mus- 
tard Prophet  when  he  discovered  the  loss  of  his 
rabbit-foot  would  be  a  valuable  contribution  to 
the  silent  drama.  Alone  in  that  big  plantation- 
house,  with  no  one  to  talk  to,  he  spluttered  with 
language  like  an  erupting  volcano,  and  cut  as  many 
capers  as  a  cat  having  a  fit. 

After  that  he  mounted  the  fastest  horse  on  his 
plantation  and  rode  to  town,  sweeping  down  upon 
his  wife  like  a  cyclone  of  wrath  and  fear  and  con- 
sternation. 

"Dat  ole  bat  stole  dat  rabbit-foot,"  Mustard 
bellowed. 

"I  don't  b'lieve  it,"  Hopey  replied,  trying  to 
soothe  him.     *'Dat's  a  good  ole  man." 

"He's  a  good  ole  stealer,"  Mustard  howled. 
"He  knows  how  to  rob  de  hen-roost  an'  hide  de 
feathers.  Lawd,  when  I  think  how  heavy  he  sets 
in  de  amen  cornder  of  de  Shoofly  meetin' -house, 
singin'  religion  toons  an'  foolin'  de  people  all  de  time 
— I  tell  you  dat  nigger  ought  to  be  churched!" 

"But  I  don't  see  what  he  wanted  to  take  dat 
rabbit-foot  fer,"  Hopey  declared.  "He's  tole  me 
plenty  times  dat  he  didn't  b'lieve  in  foots;  he 
b'lieves  in  faith." 

"It's  wuth  a  thousan'  dollars — dat  how  come 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  41 

he  took  it!"  Mustard  bawled.  '*Mebbe  it's  wuth 
a  millyum;  how  does  I  know?  Marse  Tom,  he's 
got  it  all  fixed  up  wid  silver  trimmin's  an*  in  a 
plush  box.  Dat  ain't  no  cheap,  common,  nigger 
rabbit-foot.  Dat's  a  royal  rabbit-foot,  an'  it 
f  otch  Marse  Tom  all  de  luck  he  ever  had.  He  tole 
me  dat  his  own  self." 

''Why  don't  you  go  to  Popsy  an*  ax  him  fer  it?" 

"Dat  ole  lyin'  thief  will  say  he  ain't  got  it,  an* 
ain't  never  had  it,  an'  don't  know  nothin'  about 
it,"  Mustard  wailed.     "Atter  dat,  whar  is  I  at?** 

**Tell  him  dat  it  b'longs  to  Marse  Tom,  an'  you 
want  it  back,"  Hopey  urged. 

"Yep.  An'  d^t  ole  gizzard  will  swell  up  an* 
sw'ar  he  ain't  got  nothin'  of  Marse  Tom's  an'  offer 
to  go  down  to  de  bank  an'  prove  it  befo'  Marse 
Tom*s  own  face.  I  don't  dast  let  Marse  Tom 
know  I  done  loss  dat  rabbit-foot.  De  kunnel 
would  kill  me  dead!" 

"I  never  thought  of  dat,**  Hopey  sighed. 

"You  don*t  think  about  nothin',"  Mustard 
wailed.  "Here  I  is  in  de  wuss  mess  I'm  ever  got 
into,  an'  you  ain't  think  about  nothin'.  Look  at 
dis  here  jam.  If  Marse  Tom  finds  out  I  loss  de 
rabbit-foot,  he'll  kill  me;  ef  I  ax  dat  ole  Popsy- 
sneak  to  gib  it  back,  mebbe  he'll  blab  dat  it's  lost, 
an'  Marse  Tom  will  hear  about  it,  an'  I'll  git  kilt 
jes'  de  same.  Anyhow,  dat  foot  is  plum  gone 
an 

"Why  don't  you  git  somebody  to  git  it  back  fer 


42  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

you?"  Hopey  asked.  "Ef  Popsy  stole  it,  it  'pears 
to  me  like  somebody  oughter  be  able  to  steal  it 
back." 

"Suttinly,  ef  dey  kin  find  it,"  Mustard  said,  the 
light  of  new  hope  shining  in  his  eyes.  "I'd  gib 
somebody  one  hundred  dollars  to  steal  it  back  fer 
me  agin." 

"Dat's  plenty  lib'ral,"  Hopey  said.  "Mebbe 
ef  you'll  hunt  aroun*  you  kin  find  somebody." 

Mustard  quieted  down  and  gave  himself  to  deep 
meditation,  trying  to  think  of  someone  sufficiently 
bold  to  hold  up  Popsy  and  extract  the  treasure 
from  his  pocket. 

Hopey  took  this  opportunity  to  leave  the  room. 
She  had  heard  a  great  deal  from  Mustard,  and  she 
did  not  care  to  be  around  when  he  began  to  mourn 
and  lament  again.  She  was  a  fat  woman,  and  de- 
sired calm  environments,  and  sought  the  ways  of 
peace.  Moreover,  she  did  not  attribute  the  same 
value  to  the  rabbit-foot  that  Mustard  did.  It 
seemed  to  her  that  Gaitskill  had  given  it  to 
Mustard  to  keep  for  his  own,  and  that  he  cared 
nothing  for  it,  had  forgotten  all  about  it ;  he  could 
not  attach  much  importance  to  its  possession  when 
he  had  never  made  inquiry  about  it  in  all  the  time 
that  Mustard  had  guarded  it  so  zealously. 

But  Mustard  was  the  best  negro  overseer  in 
Louisiana  for  this  reason  as  much  as  any  other: 
he  took  care  of  things,  regarded  his  employer's 
property  as  more  valuable  even  than  his  own,  and 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  43 

everything  belonging  to  Marse  Tom  was  to  be  kept 
in  order  for  the  day  when  he  should  give  an  account 
of  his  stewardship. 

After  a  while,  Hopey  thought  of  her  friend,  Daz- 
zle Zenor.  Dazzle  had  good  sense,  possessed  the 
wisdom  which  comes  from  many  varied  experi- 
ences, and  she  would  be  able  to  help  her  now.  She 
heard  certain  noises  in  the  next  room,  which  indi- 
cated that  Mustard  was  getting  ready  to  explode 
again,  so  she  hastily  left  the  house  and  went  to 
town. 

Dazzle  lived  in  Ginny  Babe  Chew's  boarding- 
house  in  Dirty-Six.  So  Hopey  climbed  pantingly 
to  the  second  floor  of  this  house  and  knocked  on 
her  door. 

''Who's  dat?" 

* '  Hopey  Prophet  is  done  come  on  bizzness.  Open 
dis  door!" 

"Whut  you  come  to  see  me  fur?"  Dazzle  asked 
promptly,  after  she  had  admitted  Hopey. 

Dazzle  was  a  woman  who  met  all  the  exactions 
of  Ethiopian  beauty.  Her  skin  as  black  as  jet,  her 
teeth  like  milk,  her  eyes  so  dark  that  they  had  a 
bluish  tinge,  slim  and  strong  and  graceful,  an 
actress,  a  dancer,  a  singer,  she  was  the  dusky  belle 
of  Tickfall.  Every  negro  man  who  had  married 
anybody  in  the  past  four  years  had  first  proposed 
to  and  been  rejected  by  Dazzle. 

Many  of  Dazzle's  enterprises  were  highly  ad- 
venturous, and  she  was  always  fearful  and  sus- 


44  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

picious.  So  when  Hopey  hesitated  to  begin, 
Dazzle's  tone  became  sharp  with  anxiety  : 

"Whut  you  come  to  see  me  fur?"  she  repeated. 

**I  come  to  consult  wid  you  about  a  little  scrape 
our  f  ambly  is  got  into,  Dazzle, ' '  Hopey  began.  * '  Us 
is  liable  to  hab  plenty  trouble  onless  somebody  kin 
he'p  us." 

"Whut*s  done  busted  loose  now?"  Dazzle  asked 
easily.  Her  mind  was  now  at  rest,  for  nothing 
that  could  happen  to  Hopey's  family  could  im- 
pinge on  any  of  Dazzle's  previous  escapades. 

"Mustard  is  done  loss  his  rabbit-foot!"  Hopey 
exclaimed  in  tragic  tones. 

Dazzle  laughed. 

"I'll  gib  Mustard  a  hatful  of  dem  things.  I'm 
got  about  twenty." 

"But  dis  here  is  a  royal  rabbit-foot,"  Hopey 
said  with  emphasis. 

"I  never  heerd  of  dat  kind,  but  'tain't  no  'count 
whutever  it  is,"  Dazzle  smiled.  "I  done  tried  all 
kinds,  an'  I  knows." 

"But  dis  rabbit-foot  b'longed  to  Marse  Tom 
Gaitskill,"  Hopey  informed  her,  "an'  Mustard 
lost  it,  an'  Marse  Tom  will  kill  Mustard  ef  he  don't 
git  it  back." 

"No  doubts,"  Dazzle  chuckled.  "White  folks 
ain't  got  no  real  good  sense,  an'  nobody  cain't  tell 
whut  dey  will  do." 

Then  Dazzle  listened  while  Hopey  told  the  tale 
of  the  disappearance  of  the  rabbit-foot.    Dazzle 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  45 

was  not  much  impressed  with  this  story  of  an- 
other's misfortune,  but  at  the  last  one  sentence 
stimulated  her  interest : 

' '  Mustard  says  he  will  pay  one  hundred  dollars 
to  whoever  gits  his  foot  back." 

That  was  speaking  in  language  which  Dazzle 
could  understand.     She  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"I'll  earn  dat  hundred  dollars  right  now,"  Daz- 
zle proclaimed.  "I'll  go  out  to  Popsy's  cabin  an' 
pull  his  nose  till  he  gibs  up  dat  foot." 

'"Tain't  possible,  Dazzle,"  Hopey  said.  "We 
don't  want  Marse  Tom  to  know  dat  de  foot  is  lost. 
Ef  you  go  to  pullin'  noses  an'  skinnin'  shins,  Popsy 
will  beller,  an'  Marse  Tom  will  hear  about  dat." 

"He'd  shore  howl,"  Dazzle  agreed,  reluctantly 
abandoning  that  plan.  "Well,  I'll  go  out  and 
make  love  to  dat  ole  man,  an'  sneak  de  rabbit-foot 
outenhis  pocket." 

"Any  way  will  do  dat  will  git  de  foot  back  'thout 
makin'  too  much  of  a  rookus.  Dazzle,"  Hopey 
said.  "We  don't  want  no  row,  no  nigger  scrape, 
no  loud  noise,  and  no  white  folks  mixin'  in." 

"White  folks  is  shore  good  mixers,"  Dazzle 
said,  wincing  at  the  recollection  of  several  plans 
of  hers  which  had  been  rudely  frustrated  by  the 
interference  of  the  whites.  "I'll  see  whut  I  kin 
do." 


46  The  Left  Hind  Foot 


IX 

SKEETER  BUTTS 

At  the  time  that  Hopey  was  in  conversation 
with  Dazzle  Zenor,  Mustard  was  in  deep  thought. 
At  last  a  name  came  into  his  darkened  and 
troubled  mind  which  was  like  a  blaze  of  light  il- 
luminating all  his  perplexities:  "Skeeter  Butts!" 

Ten  minutes  later  he  entered  the  Hen-Scratch 
saloon  and  was  told  that  the  man  he  sought  was  in 
a  little  room  in  the  rear. 

*'I'm  shore  glad  to  find  you  so  easy,  Skeeter," 
Mustard  said  in  a  relieved  tone.  '*Ef  you  had 
been  out  of  town  I  would  hab  fotch'  my  troubles 
to  you  jes'  the  same,  whar  you  wus." 

"Dis  is  whar  you  gits  exputt  advices  on  ev'y- 
thing,"  Skeeter  laughed  as  he  sat  down  and  lighted 
a  cigarette. 

Why  is  it  that  people  make  confidants  of  bar- 
keeps? 

And  whom  will  we  tell  our  troubles  to  when  the 
world  is  made  safe  for  prohibition  ? 

Skeeter  was  a  saddle-colored,  dapper,  petite 
negro,  the  dressiest  man  of  any  color  who  ever 
lived  in  Tickfall.  His  hair  was  always  closely 
clipped,  the  part  made  in  the  middle  of  his  head 
with  a  razor.  His  collars  were  so  high  that  they 
made  him  look  like  a  jackass,  with  his  chin  hang- 
ing over  a  whitewashed  fence.     His  clothes  were 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  47 

so  loud  that  they  invariably  proclaimed  the  man 
a  block  away. 

He  was  the  "pet  nigger"  of  all  the  well-to-do 
white  people  in  the  town,  who  invariably  took  him 
upon  their  hunting  and  fishing  trips ;  his  dancing, 
singing,  gift  of  mimicry,  and  certain  histrionic 
gifts  had  given  him  a  place  in  many  amateur 
theatrical  exhibitions  in  Tickfall,  among  both 
whites  and  blacks ;  and  with  all  his  monkey  trick- 
ery he,  nevertheless,  had  the  confidence  of  all  the 
white  people,  and  could  walk  in  and  out  of  more 
houses  without  a  question  being  asked  as  to  the 
reason  for  his  presence  there  than  any  white  or 
black  in  the  little  village. 

Among  the  negroes  he  was  Sir  Oracle.  He  was 
matrimonial  adjuster  in  courtship,  marriage,  and 
divorce;  he  was  confidential  adviser  at  baptisms 
and  funerals;  his  expert  advice  was  sought  in  all 
matters  pertaining  to  lodge  and  church  and  social 
functions.  In  short,  he  represented  in  Tickfall 
colored  society  what  Colonel  Gaitskill  did  among 
the  white  people. 

"Dis  is  whar  you  gits  exputt  advices  on  every- 
thing," Skeeter  laughed,  for  he  knew  his  standing 
among  his  people. 

'  *  I  don't  want  advices.  I  wants  a  hold-up  man, '  * 
Mustard  said  gloomily. 

"How  come?" 

"A  feller  stole  somepin  from  me,  an'  I  wants 
somebody  to  steal  it  back,"     Mustard  explained. 


48  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

**Bawl  out  wid  it,*'  Skeeter  snapped.  ** Don't 
go  beatin'  de  bush  aroun'  de  debbil.     Talk  sense ! ' ' 

Mustard  hesitated  for  a  long  time,  opened  his 
mouth  once  or  twice  as  if  about  to  speak,  shook  his 
head,  and  seemed  to  think  better  of  it. 

''Well,"  Skeeter  snapped,  "why  don't  you  tell 
it?" 

"I  don't  know  how  to  begin,"  Mustard  sighed. 

"Begin  at  de  fust  part  an'  tell  dat  fust,"  Skeeter 
ranted.  ' '  Is  you  been  hittin'  Marse  Tom's  bottle  ? ' ' 

Under  this  sort  of  prodding,  continued  for  some 
time  longer,  Skeeter  finally  got  Mustard  started, 
and  got  the  story.  It  is  not  necessary  to  repeat 
it,  although  Mustard's  way  of  telling  what  hap- 
pened and  what  he  thought  of  Popsy  would  be 
interesting. 

"An'  now,  Skeeter,"  Mustard  concluded,  "de 
idear  is  dis :  Popsy  stole  my  rabbit-foot,  an'  I  want 
you  to  steal  it  back.  Rob  de  ole  man  of  my  foot 
an'  fotch  it  back  to  me,  an'  I'll  gib  you  one  hundred 
dollars." 

"Pay  in  eggsvance?"  Skeeter  asked  eagerly. 

"No,"  Mustard  said. 

"Bestow  a  little  money  in  eggsvance  to  keep  my 
mind  int 'rusted." 

"Suttinly.  Ten  dollars  cash  down — you  got  to 
pay  it  back  ef  you  don't  do  no  good." 

"I'll  git  de  foot  all  right,"  Skeeter  said  confid- 
ently. 

"Don't  be  too  shore,  Skeeter,"  Mustard  warned 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  49 

him.  '  *  You  might  git  in  jail,  an'  ef  you  does,  don't 
ax  me  to  he'p  you." 

"You  means  to  say  ef  I  bust  into  ole  Popsy's 
cabin  an'  steal  de  foot,  an'  he  gits  me  arrested,  you 
won't  esplain  nothin'  to  de  cote-house?" 

"Nary  a  single  esplain!"  Mustard  proclaimed 
solemnly.  "Dat's  jes'  whut  I  means.  I  ain't 
gwine  git  mixed  up  in  dis  no  way  an'  no  how !  Ef 
you  gits  in  jail,  I  won't  open  my  mouth  ef  dey 
hangs  you  on  a  tree." 

Skeeter  pulled  out  of  his  pocket  the  ten-dollar 
bill  which  Mustard  had  just  given  him  and  spread 
it  out  upon  his  knee,  smoothing  it  with  his  yellow 
fingers. 

''Gimme  fo'  more  ten-dollar  bills  to  spread  out 
on  top  of  dis  tenner,"  Skeeter  commanded. 

Mustard  promptly  handed  over  the  money. 

"Dis  here  detecative  stealin'  job  is  a  risky  bizz- 
ness,"  Skeeter  proclaimed.  "I  ain't  never  got  at 
nothin'  yit  as  dangersome." 

"I  knows  it,  Skeeter,"  Mustard  agreed  gloomily. 
"Ef  you  ain't  keerful,  you'll  git  a  bullet  in  you; 
an'  ef  dat  sad  misforchine  happens  to  you  I  won't 
even  come  to  yo'  fun'ral.  I  ain't  gwine  mix  wid 
dis  at  all." 

Mustard  arose,  walked  through  the  barroom, 
climbed  upon  his  horse,  and  departed  for  the  Nig- 
ger-Heel plantation. 

Skeeter  sat  for  a  long  time,  considering  all  that 
Mustard  had  told  him,  the  money  still  spread  out 


50  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

upon  his  knee.  Then  he  arose  and  pocketed  the 
money,  walked  out  to  the  rear,  and  sat  down  in  a 
chair  under  his  favorite  china-berry  tree. 

Two  boys  up  the  street  diverted  his  attention 
for  a  moment.  They  had  a  long,  black  bullwhip, 
and  were  taking  turn-about  trying  to  see  who 
could  "pop"  it  the  loudest.  The  "cracker"  on 
the  whip  was  nearly  worn  off,  and  they  decided  to 
plait  an  entirely  new  cracker,  one  that  would  pop 
like  a  pistol.  Neither  had  a  pocket-knife,  and 
they  could  find  nothing  with  which  to  remove  the 
old  cracker.  They  tried  to  saw  it  off  with  a  piece 
of  sharp  glass,  abandoned  that  in  favor  of  a  piece 
of  sharp-edged  tin  can,  then  took  a  sharp  rock  and 
tried  to  beat  it  off. 

When  they  saw  Skeeter  Butts  they  swooped 
down  on  him. 

'  *  Lend  us  de  loant  of  yo*  pocket-knife,  Skeeter," 
Little  Bit  asked. 

Skeeter  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  found 
nothing,  and  answered : 

"I  left  it  inside  de  barroom.  I'm  glad  of  it,  be- 
cause you's  be  shore  to  cut  yourself s." 

Skeeter  leaned  his  chair  against  the  tree,  sat 
down,  and  placed  the  heels  of  his  shoes  in  the  front 
rungs  of  the  chair,  tipped  his  hat  down  over  his 
eyes  until  the  bridge  of  his  nose  was  invisible,  and 
sat  motionless.  Except  the  tiny  column  of  smoke 
that  curled  up  from  his  cigarette,  there  was 
scarcely  a  sign  of  life. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  51 

The  two  boys  wandered  around  to  the  front  of 
the  saloon.  Then  a  bright  idea  came  to  Little 
Bit: 

' '  Marse  Org,  less  git  a  match  an'  burn  de  cracker 
off  en  dis  ole  whup." 

^'Where's  the  match?" 

Little  Bit  led  him  into  the  saloon  and  conducted 
him  to  the  little  room  in  the  rear.  There,  upon  a 
table,  they  found  a  box  of  matches,  and  Org  struck 
one  and  applied  it  to  the  cracker,  while  Little  Bit 
held  the  whip. 

The  cracker  easily  caught  fire  and  burned  freely. 
When  it  was  near  to  the  rawhide  end  of  the  lash 
Little  Bit  gave  the  whip  a  quick  jerk  and  the  flam- 
ing cracker  flew  off  the  end.  The  boys  laughed 
at  the  success  of  their  plan,  picked  up  a  handful 
of  twine  strings  which  lay  around  the  floor,  and 
walked  out. 

Boylike,  they  never  looked  to  see  where  the  flam- 
ing cracker  went.  They  didn't  care  where  it  went. 
They  didn't  want  it.  They  went  out  the  way  they 
had  come,  and  ran  up  the  street  and  far  away. 

Skeeter  was  undisturbed  until  Dazzle  Zenor 
passed  and  roused  him. 

"I  got  a  big  job  befo'  me,"  she  said. 

"Me,  too,"  Skeeter  replied. 

**My  job  am  a  secret,"  Dazzle  offered. 

**Mine,  too,"  Skeeter  responded. 

**rs  fixin'  to  make  a  good  bunch  of  money," 
Dazzle  boasted. 


52  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

"I'll  either  make  money  or  git  in  jail,"  Skeeter 
said.     "I'm  got  a  detecative  job." 

"My  job  is  harder,"  Dazzle  smiled.  "I  pick 
pockets." 

"I  bet  you  is  flirtin'  wid  a  jail,  too,"  Skeeter 
asserted. 

"Mebbe  so.     I  cain't  tell  you  no  more " 

Suddenly  she  stopped  and  stared  at  the  closed 
door  in  the  rear  of  the  saloon  through  which  tiny 
spirals  of  smoke  were  issuing  by  way  of  the  cracks. 

"Is  you  fumigatin',  Skeeter?"  she  asked. 

"Fumigatin'  whut?"  Skeeter  asked,  then  ran  to 
the  door  and  threw  it  open. 

The  room  was  filled  with  smoke  and  a  pile  of  old 
trash  and  newspapers  in  one  corner  was  ablaze. 

With  a  loud  whoop,  Skeeter  and  Dazzle  ran 
through  the  smoke  to  the  fire ;  from  the  door  which 
entered  into  the  barroom,  Figger  Bush  came  in 
with  a  bucket  of  water,  yelling  like  a  wild  man.  It 
was  all  over  in  a  minute. 

' '  Good-by ,  Skeeter ! ' '  Dazzle  laughed.  ' '  Mebbe 
us'U  meet  in  jail." 

"Dat  fire  is  a  bad  sign  for  me,  Dazzle,"  Skeeter 
sighed.  "Troubles  is  gittin'  ready  to  happen  to 
me." 

"Things  will  shore  happen  whar  a  white  boy  an* 
a  pickaninny  monkeys  aroun',"  Dazzle  told  him. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  53 


RABBIT  TOBACCO 

When  the  inveterate  smoker  throws  away  a 
pipe,  it  may  be  safely  presumed  that  the  pipe  has 
some  potency.  A  briar-root  sweetens  with  age, 
mellowing  and  ripening  in  its  own  nicotine,  and 
then  it  becomes  impossible.  So  it  happened  that 
Colonel  Gaitskill  was  compelled  to  an  act  of  aban- 
donment. The  pipe  that  had  solaced  him  for 
years  was  hurled  far  over  in  a  clump  of  weeds  in 
the  horse-pasture. 

One  pair  of  sharp  eyes  saw  the  act  of  abandon- 
ment and  watched  to  see  where  the  pipe  fell.  One 
pair  of  nimble  feet  carried  their  owner  to  the  spot 
where  the  forsaken  thing  had  fallen.  A  pair  of 
eager  hands  laid  hold  upon  it,  and  Orren  Randolph 
Gaitskill  found  himself  in  proud  possession  of  a 
real  pipe. 

If  Orren 's  Sunday-school  teacher  had  arrived  at 
that  particular  moment  and  had  been  disposed  to 
instruct  this  youth  upon  the  injurious  effects  of 
nicotine,  he  could  have  run  a  broom-straw  down 
the  stem  of  that  pipe  and  brought  it  out  all  black 
and  shiny  with  poison.  Finding  a  cat  who  never 
had  smoked,  did  not  even  "chaw,"  he  could  have 
forced  that  straw  between  pussy's  teeth,  drawing 
it  lengthwise  through  the  sides  of  her  mouth,  thus 
wiping  off  the  nicotine  upon  her  tongue.  He 
could  then  have  waited  a  few  minutes  and  had  a 


54  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

free  show  for  himself  and  Orren  Randolph  Gaits- 
kill:  the  exhibition  of  a  suffering  cat,  dying 
miserably  in  a  fit. 

But,  no!  Orren  had  not  the  remotest  idea  of 
permitting  a  cat,  or  even  a  Sunday-school  teacher, 
to  share  the  delights  of  that  pipe  with  him.  He 
intended  to  smoke  it  in  exclusive  partnership  with 
his  colored  friend,  Little  Bit. 

Orren  found  Little  Bit  sitting  on  a  curb-stone 
in  front  of  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon,  and  exhibited 
the  treasure. 

'*Dat's  a  purty  good  pipe,  but  whar's  yo'  ter- 
backer?"  Little  Bit  asked. 

' '  You  ought  to  furnish  that, ' '  Org  replied.  '  *  I've 
got  the  pipe  and  the  matches." 

"I  ain't  got  none." 

** Don't  yo'  mammy  smoke?" 

*'Naw.     She  dips." 

* ' Don't  your  father  smoke? " 

"Ain't  got  no  paw.     He's  daid." 

**Well,  then:  can't  you  borrow  a  little  tobacco 
from  some  of  your  friends?" 

"Ain't  got  no  frien's,  excusin'  you." 

"What  about  Skeeter  Butts?" 

"He  ain't  no  frien'  of  our'n.  He's  mad  at  us 
because  we  sot  his  saloom  on  fire  wid  dat  hot 
whup-cracker." 

"I  never  saw  a  colored  person  with  as  little  as 
you  have,"  Orren  said  irascibly.  "You  haven't 
got  nothin'." 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  55 

**Dat's  a  fack.  Dat's  de  nachel  way  niggers  is. 
But  I  knows  whar  dar  is  plenty  rabbit  terbacker." 

"That's  as  good  as  any,  I'm  sure,"  Org  said. 
"Lead  me  to  it." 

A  short  distance  on  the  edge  of  the  town,  Little 
Bit  led  Org  into  a  wide  pasture,  along  the  edge  of 
which  there  ran  a  little  branch.  He  hunted  a  few 
minutes  in  search  of  a  plant  which  is  known  in 
other  places  as  "life  everlasting,"  but  in  Louisiana 
is  called  "rabbit  tobacco." 

This  can  be  said  for  it:  the  oldest  pipe-user, 
dying  for  want  of  a  smoke,  will  not  smoke  the 
weed  called  life  everlasting.  He  lets  rabbit 
tobacco  alone.  It  has  the  flavor  and  the  odor 
of  tobacco.  It  also  has  an  effect,  when  used, 
which  invariably  reminds  every  man  of  the  time 
when  he  smoked  his  first  cigar. 

"Dar  she  is!"  Little  Bit  exclaimed,  pouncing 
upon  a  dry  weed.  "Dis  here  plant  will  gib  us  a- 
plenty." 

He  stripped  off  the  dry  leaves,  crushed  them  in 
his  hands  and,  assisted  by  Org,  he  packed  the  pipe- 
bowl.  They  walked  to  the  edge  of  a  little  thicket 
and  sat  down  upon  a  convenient  log  to  enjoy  their 
smoke.  A  long,  level  pasture  stretched  out  be- 
fore them,  dotted  here  and  there  with  grazing 
cattle,  ending  across  the  way  with  a  rail  fence,  be- 
side which  grew  a  row  of  trees. 

Org  produced  a  box  of  matches,  laid  it  upon  the 
ground  beside  him,  and  reached  out  for  the  pipe. 


56  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

''111  light  up  and  smoke  awhile,  Little  Bit. 
Then  I'll  pass  it  to  you." 

' '  Hit  away,  Marse  Org.  I  ain't  really  hankerin' 
fer  no  pipe-smoke.  I  likes  cigareets  best.  But 
I'll  go  it  a  puff  or  two,  ef  you'll  puff  fust." 

Org  lighted  the  pipe  and  was  charmed  at  the 
ease  with  which  he  could  draw  the  smoke  through 
the  stem.  The  smoke  was  exceptionally  sweet 
and  cooling  to  the  tongue,  like  the  flavor  of  ether, 
although  Org  had  never  tasted  that  volatile  fluid. 
He  took  four  or  five  hearty  puffs,  and  then  felt 
that  it  was  time  to  introduce  his  black  friend  to 
this  charming  and  delightful  accomplishment. 

Little  Bit  had  counted  the  number  of  times  that 
Org  had  blown  the  smoke  from  his  lips  and  he  had 
too  much  regard  for  his  "raisin"'  to  puff  a  single 
time  more  than  his  white  companion.  After  four 
draws  he  handed  back  the  pipe. 

Org  reached  for  it  with  a  disinterested  hand. 
He  held  the  pipe  listlessly  and  gazed  out  dreamily 
upon  the  level  meadow  with  eyes  which  saw  little 
and  comprehended  less  and  were  not  interested  in 
that.  Then  the  pipe  dropped  from  his  hands,  and 
Org  opened  his  eyes  wide,  as  he  suddenly  beheld  the 
entire  pasture  with  all  its  grazing  cattle,  the  fence 
with  the  trees  at  the  far  end — everything,  in  fact, 
rise  up  in  the  air  and  dance  high  above  his  head ! 

Org  leaned  back  so  far  to  behold  the  last  of  this 
phenomenon  that  he  fell  off  the  log  and  lay  prone 
upon  the  ground. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  57 

"Whut  aHs  you,  Marse  Org?"  Little  Bit  asked 
solicitously.  "Is  de  worl'  done  turned  down-side 
up  fer  you,  too?" 

Little  Bit  arose  with  the  intention  of  helping  his 
white  companion,  the  entire  earth  tipped  and 
rolled  over  on  him  and  pushed  him  over  the  log, 
where  he  lay  holding  to  the  ground  to  keep  from 
being  pitched  off. 

One  hour  later  the  two  boys  crawled  up  on  the 
log  and  sat  down,  trembling,  weak,  beyond  any 
weakness  they  had  ever  experienced. 

"I  guess  we  got  poisoned  with  something, 
Little  Bit,"  Org  remarked.  "I  feel  pretty 
bad." 

"Dar  ain't  been  many  cullud  folks  as  sick  as  I 
wus  an'  lived  through  it,"  Little  Bit  replied  with 
weak  boastfulness.  "Niggers  is  like  a  mule:  dey 
don't  git  sick  but  one  time  an'  atter  dat,  dey  die.  I 
wus  wuss  off  in  de  last  hour  dan  I  ever  is  been. 
It  muss  hab  been  somepin  I  et." 

"I  been  heap  sicker  than  you  were,"  Org  de- 
clared. "You  lived  through  it — you  say  so  your- 
self.    But  me,  I'm  dying  now!" 

"Dis  ain't  no  fitten  place  to  die,  Marse  Org," 
Little  Bit  protested.  '  *  De  buzzards  will  eat  us  up 
out  here  all  unbeknownst  to  nobody.  Less  mosey 
back  to  town  whar  people  kin  see  us  die  an'  keep 
de  buzzards  off." 

"Less  hurry.  I  ain't  got  long  to  live,"  Org 
declared. 


58  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

**We  moves  now,"  Little  Bit  sighed  miserably. 
**Dis  wus  shore  a  narrer  escapement  fer  us." 

Locomotion  was  a  difficult  task  for  both  of  them. 
They  were  glad  when  they  came  to  the  fence  and 
could  use  a  stick  with  one  hand  and  cling  to  the 
fence  with  the  other.  When  they  reached  the 
road,  they  made  wild  and  desperate  gestures  and 
stopped  a  little  automobile. 

"Whar  you  fellers  been  at?"  Skeeter  Butts 
asked  as  he  opened  the  door  for  them  to  climb  in 
beside  him.     "You  look  all  peeked  up." 

"Me  an'  Marse  Org,  we  been  smokin'  rabbit 
terbacker,"  Little  Bit  told  him. 

"Ho!  Ho!  He!  He!"  Skeeter  Butts  howled. 
'  *  I  done  dat  trick  once  myself.  You-alls  gwine  try 
it  agin?" 

"Naw,  suh." 

"I  reckin  not,"  Skeeter  laughed.  "I  tried 
smokin'  dat  stuff  twenty  year  ago  an'  right  now 
whenever  I  sees  a  bush  of  dat  rabbit  terbacker,  I 
grabs  a  tree  an'  begins  to  heave!" 

Skeeter  turned  his  machine  and  started  back  to 
Tickfall. 

"Whar  you  want  me  to  take  you?"  he  asked. 

'*Home,  quick!"  Org  sighed. 

"Drap  me  at  de  Hen-Scratch,"  Little  Bit 
begged.  "I  ain't  got  de  cornstitution  to  ride  no 
furder." 

Skeeter  drove  to  Gaitskill's  home,  lifted  Org  out 
of  the  machine  and  carried  him  to  the  porch.    Org 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  59 

promptly  stretched  out  flat  on  his  back  on  the 
porch  floor  and  called : 

"Gince!  Oh,  Gince!  Come  here  and  help  me! 
I'm  dying!" 

Coming  in  answer  to  his  call,  Miss  Virginia's 
face  at  first  assumed  an  expression  of  fright  at  the 
sight  of  Org,  then,  glancing  at  Skeeter's  grinning 
mug,  her  uneasiness  vanished. 

**What  have  you  been  doing?"  she  asked  Org. 

**  Smoking,"  Org  confessed.  "  Smoking  a 
pipe!" 

''Where  is  that  pipe?" 

Org  thrust  a  trembling  hand  into  the  pocket  of 
his  coat  and  produced  the  briar-root. 

"The  idea!"  Miss  Virginia  snapped,  looking  at 
the  pipe  with  loathsome  repugnance.  *  'What  else 
have  you  in  your  pockets  ?    Let  me  see ! " 

Org  turned  the  pockets  of  his  trousers  wrong 
side  out  and  a  number  of  strange  and  nameless 
things  rolled  out,  things  which  could  have  value 
only  in  the  eyes  of  a  boy. 

"Turn  out  your  coat  pockets!"  Virginia  com- 
manded. 

Org  thrust  his  hand  into  his  coat  and  handed 
Virginia  a  green-plush  box. 

The  eyes  of  Skeeter  Butts  nearly  popped  out  of 
his  head. 

"For  goodness'  sake!"  Virginia  exclaimed  in  an 
angry  voice  as  she  seized  the  box. 

"I  was  carrying  it  for  luck,  Gince,"  Org  said 


60  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

apologetically.  *' Little  Bit  said  it  was  lucky,  but 
— oh,  I  feel  so  sick!" 

Virginia  opened  the  box  and  brought  forth  a 
rabbit-foot  surmounted  on  one  end  with  silver. 
Finding  that  it  had  not  been  injured,  she  spoke  in 
a  mollified  tone : 

"After  this,  you  understand  that  this  plush  box 
is  mine,  young  man!  Don't  you  ever  touch  it 
again!" 

"I  won't.     It  ain't  no  good." 

*'Skeeter,"  she  said.  ''Carry  Org  upstairs  to 
my  room.     I'll  lead  the  way." 

Skeeter  lifted  the  prostrate  boy  and  carried  him 
where  his  sister  led.  He  lingered  around  the  bed 
where  he  had  placed  Org  until  he  saw  Miss  Virginia 
open  the  drawer  of  a  dressing-table  and  place  the 
green-plush  box  within  it  and  shut  the  drawer. 

**You  wants  me  to  git  de  dorctor.  Miss  Vir- 
ginny?"  Skeeter  asked. 

"No.    That  will  be  all  for  you,  thank  you." 

When  Skeeter  stepped  out  upon  the  road  beside 
the  house,  he  noticed  Colonel  Gaitskill  out  in  the 
horse-pasture,  walking  around  in  a  circle  defined 
by  a  clump  of  grass,  his  eyes  glued  upon  the  ground 
as  if  he  was  hunting  for  something. 

"Have  you  done  loss  somepin,  Marse  Tom?" 
Skeeter  inquired  as  he  walked  to  where  he  was. 

"Yes.  I  had  a  pipe  that  I  have  smoked  for 
twenty  years.  I  threw  it  out  in  these  weeds  this 
morning  and  bought  a  new  pipe.    But  the  new 


\ 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  6i 

pipe  is  an  abomination.  I'm  looking  for  the  old 
one. 

"I  think  young  Marse  Org  is  got  dat  ole  one," 
Skeeter  laughed.  ''Miss  Virginny  jes'  now  tuck 
it  off  en  him  an'  lef  it  on  de  front  porch." 

Gaitskill  stooped  and  broke  off  the  stem  of  a 
weed.  He  stripped  the  leaves  from  the  straight 
stem,  crushed  them,  and  sniffed  at  the  pecuHar, 
sweetish,  tobacco  odor. 

Skeeter  caught  the  scent,  reeled  backward, 
clutched  at  his  throat,  grabbed  a  convenient  tree 
and  began  to  heave! 

XI 

AT  AUCTION 

When  Skeeter  Butts  informed  Mustard  Prophet 
that  his  coveted  rabbit-foot  was  in  the  Gaitskill 
home,  Mustard  nearly  went  into  hysterics. 

' '  My  Gawd ! "  he  wailed.  ' ' No  telHn'  whut  dem 
white  chillun  will  do  to  dat  foot — an'  mebbe  I 
won't  never  see  it  agin." 

"Dey  ain't  gwine  hurt  it — Marse  Tom's  house 
is  safer  dan  a  bank!"  Skeeter  protested. 

*'How'll  I  ever  git  dat  foot  back  outen  dat 
house?"  Mustard  howled.  "Of  co'se  de  house  is 
safer  dan  a  bank.  Us  cain't  rob  a  white  folk's 
house." 

**How  come  you  want  it  back  ef  it  b'longs  to 
Marse  Tom?"  Skeeter  asked. 


62  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

**It's  dis  way,  Skeeter,"  Mustard  said,  trying 
to  explain.  "Eve'ything  dat  Marse  Tom  trusts 
to  me,  I  keeps  jes*  like  it  is  when  he  gibs  it  to  me. 
Ef  he  hands  me  a  door-key,  he  needn't  ax  me  fer 
dat  key  fer  ten  year,  but  when  he  do,  I'll  gib  him 
dat  key !  Now,  he  gimme  dat  foot  fifteen  year  ago, 
an'  he  ain't  never  mentioned  dat  foot  since  dat 
time  nor  seed  it  endurin'  all  dem  years;  but  ef  he 
wuster  come  to  de  Nigger-Heel  to-morrer  an'  ax 
me,  'Mustard,  whar's  my  rabbit-foot?'  my  in- 
sides  would  bust  open  an'  be  outsides  onless  I 
could  say :  *  Here  she  am ! " ' 

* '  I  sees, ' '  Skeeter  Butts  said.  *  *  You's  got  a  rep 
wid  Marse  Tom." 

"Dat's  right.     I's  tryin'  not  to  ruin  my  rep." 

"I  wish  I'd  'a'  knowed  dat  little  white  boy  had 
dat  foot  in  his  pocket,"  Skeeter  sighed.  ''I'd  'a' 
picked  his  pocket  or  heldt  him  up  or  somepin'  like 
dat." 

"Too  late  fer  dat  now,"  Mustard  mourned. 
"Dat  white  boy  found  dat  rabbit-foot  down  at  ole 
Popsy's  cabin.  Popsy  lives  back  on  de  Gaitskill 
place  in  a  cabin  Marse  Tom  gib  him,  an'  dem 
pickaninnies  wus  playin'  aroun'  dar  an'  swiped  it. 
An'  ef  Marse  Tom  ever  ketches  on  dat  I  wus  so 
keerless  wid  his  royal  foot  dat  I  let  a  bat  like  ole 
Popsy  git  holt  of  it  an'  run  away  wid  it,  an'  den  let 
it  git  in  de  hands  of  dem  chillun — Oh,  Lawdy!" 

Tears  ran  down  the  cheeks  of  Mustard  Prophet. 
The  loss  of  the  luck-charm  was  a  real  tragedy  to 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  63 

Mustard,  for  his  life  had  been  one  of  absolute 
fidelity  in  Httle  things. 

Every  Southern  man  knows  that  the  most  un- 
accountable paradox  in  negro  nature  and  charac- 
ter lies  right  here:  you  may  choose  the  trickiest 
negro  thief  in  Louisiana,  give  him  the  key  to  yoiu* 
money-chest,  go  to  Europe  and  stay  ten  years,  and 
when  you  return  the  negro  will  hand  you  the  key, 
and  the  contents  of  the  chest  will  be  intact.  Doubt- 
less, he  will  open  the  chest  a  hundred  times  and 
investigate  everything  within  it,  but  he  will  not 
betray  his  trust.  Then,  having  surrendered  the 
key  and  given  an  account  of  his  stewardship,  as  he 
goes  through  the  hall  on  the  way  out,  he  might 
pick  up  your  gold-headed  cane,  stick  it  down  his 
pants'  leg  and  hike! 

But  Mustard  had  always  kept  his  record  straight 
in  all  respects.  He  was  faithful  in  that  which  was 
much  and  in  that  which  was  least.  And  now  that 
his  rabbit-foot  had  got  in  Gaitskill's  home,  he 
found  it  impossible  to  stay  away  from  that  house. 
He  must  get  it  back  before  Gaitskill  discovered 
it  there  and  asked  questions.  He  dared  not  tell 
Hopey  where  it  had  been  located,  for  Hopey  had  an 
openwork  mind  and  a  garrulous  mouth,  and  she 
might  let  something  drop  that  would  reveal  the 
secret. 

Mustard  devoted  his  days  to  service  on  the 
Nigger-Heel  plantation  and  came  to  town  every 
night.    He  had  to  ride  fourteen  miles  to  make  the 


64  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

round  trip  every  twenty-four  hours,  but  he  felt 
easier  if  he  could  only  be  near  the  house  where  his 
rabbit-foot  was  concealed. 

It  was  summer 'time,  growing  time,  with  the 
cotton  "laid  by."  Not  much  work  to  be  done  on 
the  plantation  and  a  great  many  days  as  well  as 
nights  could  be  spent  in  town.  His  presence 
around  the  Gaitskill  house  attracted  no  comment, 
for  Mustard  and  his  fat  spouse  had  been  associated 
with  the  Gaitskill  family  since  the  day  they  were 
born.  They  were  as  much  of  the  place  as  the  trees 
that  grew  on  the  lawn  and  their  presence  was  no 
more  unusual. 

Mustard,  in  the  r61e  of  Hopey's  helper,  contrived 
to  run  a  great  many  errands  up  and  down  the  back 
stairs  of  the  Gaitskill  house,  trying  with  each  trip 
to  get  closer  to  his  luck-charm,  at  least  close 
enough  to  see  it  and  to  know  that  it  was  still  there 
and  safe.  But  he  could  never  muster  quite  enough 
courage  to  enter  Miss  Virginia  Gaitskill's  private 
room. 

Saturday  afternoon  came,  the  afternoon  when 
every  negro  in  Louisiana  who  can  acquire  a  little 
money  to  spend  when  he  gets  to  town,  puts  on  his 
best  clothes  and  leaves  the  plantation. 

Each  village  fills  up  with  colored  folks.  Each 
darkey  has  his  own  idea  of  what  constitutes  fine 
dress  and  on  this  parade  he  sees  no  reason  for  wear- 
ing something  showy  without  being  able  to  show  it. 
If  he  wears  a  red  undershirt  he  keeps  his  overshirt 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  65 

unbuttoned  so  the  showy  thing  will  show.  If  he 
wears  a  pair  of  red  socks,  he  keeps  his  trousers 
rolled  up  nearly  to  his  knees,  and  sometimes  one 
can  see  a  hundred  negroes  who  look  like  they  are 
fixed  for  wading.  If  he  possesses  a  colored  hand- 
kerchief, be  sure  to  look  for  it  in  the  upper  pocket 
of  his  coat,  one  corner  sticking  out ! 

If  he  has  anything  to  sell,  he  brings  it  to  town. 
Stock  is  auctioned  upon  the  street,  horses  are 
swapped,  lies  are  exchanged,  knives,  pistols,  "gam- 
blin'-hands,"  conjures,  and  luck-charms,  all  ex- 
change owners. 

Mustard  mingled  with  this  crowd  in  gloomy  pre- 
occupation. His  mind  and  his  heart  were  centered 
upon  a  green-plush  box  in  the  top  dresser-draw  of 
a  young  lady's  boudoir — as  inaccessible,  so  it 
seemed  to  him,  as  the  moon! 

A  number  of  men  converged,  forming  a  laughing 
crowd  in  front  of  the  court-house,  and  listened  to 
the  raucous  voice  of  an  auctioneer : 

"Old  Jinx"  was  for  sale  by  auction. 

"Gentlemen,  this  here  is  a  mule  that  is  known 
to  everybody  in  this  parish.  He's  got  the  legs  on 
him  and  he's  got  the  bones  on  him,  and  he's  got  a 
good,  sound  mind  in  a  good,  sound  body,  both 
ripened  by  long  years  of  toil  and  experience.  Some 
of  you  remember  when  Jinx  first  came  to  Tickfall 
Parish,  but  none  of  you  can  remember  how  old  Jinx 
is  now  and  how  old  he  was  when  you  first  saw  him. 
You  can  estimate  the  age  of  a  cow  by  the  rings  on 


66  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

her  horns  and  the  age  of  a  tree  by  the  concentric 
rings  on  its  trunk,  and  the  age  of  a  horse  or  mule  by 
the  teeth.  But  Jinx  is  an  exception  to  all  rules. 
He*s  a  mystery.  He  has  no  pride  of  ancestry,  no 
hope  of  posterity,  and  his  future  is  behind  him. 
How  much  am  I  bid  for  Jinx?'* 

There  were  guffaws  of  laughter  and  sly  jokes 
passed  among  the  men,  but  there  were  no  bidders. 

"Don't  be  afraid  of  Jinx,  gentlemen!"  the  auc- 
tioneer pleaded.  "He's  done  a  lot  of  work  in  his 
time  and  he's  got  a  lot  more  work  in  his  system  if 
anybody  can  get  it  out.  He's  perfectly  harmless, 
a  woman  or  a  child  can  drive  him  or  ride  him  or 
work  him  in  the  field.  He's  as  deaf  as  a  post,  so 
you  can  cuss  him  in  any  known  language  without 
causing  offense  to  the  cussee.  He's  nearly  a  hun- 
dred years  old,  I  reckon,  but  his  age  ain't  nothing 
against  him.  I  knew  a  man  who  was  one  hundred 
years  old  and  he  married  a  woman  who  was  ninety 
years  old  and  they  had  a  little  baby  that  was  born 
with  a  pair  of  spectacles  on  his  nose  and  a  full  set 
of  teeth.    How  much  am  I  bid  for  Jinx?" 

"Five  dollars!"  some  wag  shouted. 

"Five!  Five!  Five!  I'm  bid  five!"  the  auc- 
tioneer began  with  a  monotonous,  bark-like  chant. 
"Five  dollars,  I'm  bid,  only  five!  Somebody 
make  it  six,  make  it  six,  make  it  six !  Six  dollars — 
somebody  bid  six,  as  a  token  of  love  and  esteem 
for  old  Jinx — the  only  mule  which  has  survived 
the  Civil  War,  the  Spanish-American  War,  the 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  67 

recent  Mexican  War,  and  the  mule  behind  that 
dragged  the  guns  in  the  great  world  war. 

"Veteran  and  survivor  of  four  great  wars,  and 
yet  this  mule  never  smelt  powder  or  heard  a  cap 
pop!  This  mule  with  all  his  rich  and  varied  ex- 
periences, is  like  a  feller  who  spends  a  dollar  riding 
on'  a  merry-go-round.  He  spends  all  his  money, 
gets  off  at  the  same  place  he  got  on,  and  where*s 
he  been  at?  Nothing  but  a  round  trip  for  Jinx! 
To  my  positive  knowledge,  I've  auctioned  him  off 
in  front  of  this  court-house  twenty-two  times  in 
the  past  twenty-two  years!    Am  I  bid  six?'* 

"Six!" 

Then  began  the  monotonous  pleading  and 
chanting  of  the  auctioneer,  his  singsong  appeal 
for  seven  dollars,  interspersed  with  feeble  jokes 
about  Jinx. 

As  he  stood  leaning  against  a  tree  in  listless  in- 
attention. Mustard  Prophet  saw  Miss  Virginia 
Gaitskill  pass  in  an  automobile  with  Captain 
Kerley  Kerlerac.  Ten  minutes  later  he  saw  Mrs. 
Gaitskill  enter  the  Tickfall  bank,  of  which  Colonel 
Gaitskill  was  president.  Casting  his  eyes  about 
him,  he  beheld  Orren  Randolph  Gaitskill  playing 
with  Little  Bit  on  a  plot  of  grass  beside  the  court- 
house.    Then  Mustard  woke  up ! 

"Dis  here  is  my  Gawd-given  chance  to  git  my 
rabbit-foot,"  was  the  idea  which  exploded  in  his 
brain,  and  he  started  for  the  Gaitskill  home  with  all 
the  speed  in  his  body. 


68  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

XII 

THE  HIGHEST  BIDDER 

Attracted  by  the  crowd,  Org  and  Little  Bit  be- 
came interested  witnesses  curious  to  know  who 
would  finally  acquire  old  Jinx.  This  was  the  first 
auction  Org  had  ever  seen,  and  without  an  idea  of 
the  financial  obligations  involved  in  the  transac- 
tion, he  began  to  help  the  matter  along. 

When  it  seemed  that  Jinx  was  going  to  be 
knocked  down  to  somebody.  Org,  at  the  solicita- 
tion of  the  auctioneer,  bid  eight ! 

** Eight  dollars,  eight,  eight,  eight!"  the  auc- 
tioneer whooped,  seizing  the  bid  like  a  wood- 
pecker swoops  upon  a  ripe  June-bug.  "Who'll 
make  it  nine?" 

It  was  a  hot  day.  The  perspiration  streamed 
down  the  face  of  the  auctioneer  and  the  old  mule 
stood  with  bowed  head,  panting  for  breath,  utterly 
oblivious  to  the  crowd  around  him.  The  auc- 
tioneer draped  one  arm  over  Jinx's  protruding 
hip-bone,  hanging  there  for  support,  while  he 
chanted : 

"Nine,  nine,  nine — somebody  make  it  nine!" 

**Why  don't  you  do  what  that  gentleman  asks 
you?"  Org  inquired  of  Little  Bit.  "He  asks  you 
to  make  it  nine — why  don't  you  do  it?" 

"Nine  dollars!"  Little  Bit  exclaimed  in  a  fright- 
ened tone. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  69 

**Ten!"  Orren  Randolph  Gaitskill  called. 

"Ten,  I'm  bid;  ten,  I'm  bid — somebody's  either 
drunk  or  crazy,  by  jacks!  Ten,  I'm  bid — who'll 
play  damphool  and  make  it  'leven?" 

'*  'Leben!"  Little  Bit  chimed. 

The  auctioneer  jerked  off  his  big  wool  hat, 
slapped  it  against  the  bony  side  of  the  mule  till  it 
popped  like  a  pistol  and  howled : 

"Wake  up.  Jinx!  You  old  varmint — you  are 
surrounded  by  friends !  Wake  up  and  show  your 
manners!" 

The  mule  raised  his  head,  shut  one  eye  with  an 
absiu*dly  sleepy  wink,  dropped  one  big  leathery 
ear  forward,  and  let  his  head  sag  down  until  his 
nose  almost  touched  his  knee. 

"Twelve  dollars!" 

This  was  more  than  the  auctioneer  could  endure. 
He  must  ascertain  the  source  of  these  rival  bids. 
A  shout  of  laughter  rose  from  the  crowd  of  men 
which  shook  the  windows  in  the  stores,  as  the  auc- 
tioneer stooped  and  looked  between  the  men  and 
his  red-rimmed  eyes  rested  upon  two  boys,  one 
white,  one  black ! 

"Who  bid  that  twelve  dollars?"  he  snapped, 
glaring  at  the  boys. 

"Me,"  Org  confessed. 

"You  want  to  buy  this  old  mule?" 

"Er— yes,  sir." 

"Have  you  got  twelve  dollars  to  pay  for  it?" 

"Yes,  sir." 


70       .     The  Left  Hind  Foot 

** Where's  that  money — show  it  to  me!*' 

"It's  up  in  Gince's  room,"  Org  said  without 
explaining  who  Gince  was.   '  *  I  '11  have  to  go  after  it. ' ' 

"Go!  Hurry!"  the  auctioneer  snapped,  wiping 
the  perspiration  from  his  face.  "What  sort  of 
business  man  are  you,  leaving  your  pocketbook 
lying  around?  Here,  you.  Little  Bit!  Hold  old 
Jinx  till  this  boy  comes  back!" 

Mustard  lost  no  time  in  getting  to  Gaitskill's 
home,  but  the  resolution  which  had  given  speed 
to  his  feet  oozed  away  when  he  arrived,  and  left 
him  a  timorous  negro,  hesitant,  ignorant  of  how 
to  proceed  further  to  secure  the  object  he  had  come 
after.  Mustard  had  no  practical  experience  in  this 
sort  of  work  to  guide  him  now.  He  realized  dimly 
that  it  was  not  becoming  that  the  trusted  overseer 
of  a  great  plantation  should  sneak  into  his  em- 
ployer's home  and  take  something  from  it,  even 
though  the  thing  he  took  really  belonged  to  him. 
But  he  knew  that  this  was  the  only  way  he  could 
get  the  luck-charm  without  letting  Marse  Tom 
know. 

He  reconnoitered  and  assured  himself  that  no 
one  was  in  the  house.  He  walked  through  the 
kitchen,  entered  the  back  hall,  and  climbed  cau- 
tiously up  the  back  steps.  Walking  quietly,  he 
went  through  the  upper  hall  toward  the  front  and 
stood  at  last  looking  into  the  dainty,  exquisite 
room  of  the  girl  in  the  home. 

It  took  him  a  long  time  to  muster  the  courage  to 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  71 

go  in.  It  was  a  pretty  room,  with  ferns  and  photo- 
graphs and  flowered  cretonne,  an  old  rosewood  bed 
of  exquisite  beauty  of  design,  beside  it  a  small 
electric  lamp  with  a  rose-colored  shade.  Two 
windows,  shaded  by  loosely  hanging  rose-colored 
silk,  a  rosewood  writing-desk.  Mustard  saw  all 
this  unconsciously.  His  eyes  were  set  upon  the 
rosewood  dressing-table  against  the  wall  between 
the  two  windows.  On  the  table  lay  a  gold  mesh 
purse;  beside  the  purse  were  three  rings,  whose 
gems  could  have  bought  Mustard  a  barrel  full  of 
rabbit-feet ! 

Of  all  the  treasures  in  that  room.  Mustard 
wanted  the  least  valuable,  measured  by  pecuniary 
standards.  If  he  had  been  dying  of  starvation,  he 
would  not  have  stepped  within  that  room  to  lay 
a  thievish  hand  upon  a  single  object.  But  he  had 
to  have  that  rabbit-foot  1 

One  step  at  a  time,  moving  with  fear  and  trem- 
bling, he  started  toward  the  dressing-table.  Fright- 
ened, he  backed  out  into  the  hall  again ;  venturing 
once  more,  he  got  almost  to  the  table,  then  backed 
again.  He  stepped  to  the  far  end  of  the  hall  and 
looked  anxiously  down  the  back  steps,  fearful  that 
someone  might  have  entered  the  kitchen.  Then 
he  returned  to  the  room,  ventured,  backed  out, 
moved  forward,  moved  sidewise,  hesitated,  side- 
stepped, moved  forward  slowly  and  at  last  laid 
his  black,  square-shaped,  labor-hardened  hand 
upon  the  beautiful  white  scarf  upon  the  dresser! 


12  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

One  of  Orren  Randolph  Gaitskill's  favorite  games 
was  to  play  "Indian."  This  consisted  in  sneaking 
about  the  house  in  absolute  silence,  dodging  be- 
hind the  doors,  crawling  under  the  beds  and 
couches  and  tables  if  he  heard  anyone  approach- 
ing and  when  a  suitable  opportunity  presented 
itself,  he  would  jump  out  upon  some  member  of 
the  household  with  a  blood-curdling  yell ! 

Org  was  playing  Indian  now  for  a  purpose.  He 
was  by  no  means  sure  that  his  sister  would  approve 
his  purchasing  a  mule  for  twelve  dollars  even  with 
his  own  money,  and  he  planned  to  slip  up  to  her 
room  and  get  his  money  out  of  his  own  purse  in  her 
dressing-table  drawer  without  her  knowledge. 

He  noiselessly  opened  the  front  door  and  en- 
tered the  reception-room.  As  he  sneaked  up  the 
steps,  his  eyes  came  level  with  the  floor  of  the  hall- 
way above,  he  saw  Mustard  Prophet,  backing  and 
filling,  giving  a  ridiculous  illustration  of  a  steam- 
boat trying  to  make  a  difficult  landing. 

Great  is  the  imagination  of  boyhood ! 

Org  caught  this  thing  in  an  instant:  Here  he 
was,  a  wild  and  savage  Indian  slipping  up  upon  a 
steamboat  of  pioneers  while  the  boat  was  trying 
to  land  upon  the  banks  of  the  mighty  Mississippi. 
Mustard  Prophet,  backing  and  filling,  moving  up 
and  moving  back,  was  the  steamboat ! 

Mustard's  negro  wife  went  into  Miss  Virginia's 
room  every  day  to  straighten  up.  Mustard  helped 
Hopey  around  the  house  all  the  time.     The  fact 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  73 

that  Mustard  was  in  the  house,  or  even  in  his 
sister's  room,  made  no  difference  to  the  boy.  That 
part  of  it  was  all  right. 

Orren  was  determined  that  Mustard  should  not 
see  him.  He  lay  down  flat  upon  the  stair-steps 
and  crawled  with  the  greatest  caution  toward  the 
top. 

Just  as  the  steamboat  navigated  the  dangerous 
waters  of  Miss  Gaitskill's  room  and  threw  out  a 
line  on  the  dressing-table,  the  Indian  peeped 
around  the  door- jamb ! 

It  is  better  to  bandon  the  rhetorical  and  imagi- 
native now;  it  is  too  easy  to  forget  which  is  who, 
and  get  the  Indian  and  the  steamboat  mixed. 

What  Org  saw  as  he  peeped  around  the  door  was 
Mustard  Prophet,  his  nervous  black  hand  resting 
upon  the  dressing-table.  Slowly  Org  raised  him- 
self to  his  feet  and  took  a  big  breath  and  jumped. 

There  was  a  loud  whoop,  which  Org  imagined 
was  the  equivalent  to  a  blood-curdling  yell ! 

It  curdled  Mustard  Prophet,  all  right ! 

The  negro  was  absolutely  petrified!  He  stood 
like  a  statue  carved  of  ebony,  apparently  nothing 
alive  about  him  except  the  eyes,  which  got  bigger 
and  burned  with  fires  of  terror.  Fright  sometimes 
paralyzes  temporarily;  nothing  moves,  even  the 
mind  stands  still.  The  victim  helpless,  disaster 
swoops  down  like  an  eagle  upon  its  prey. 

Orren  was  disappointed. 

**Why  didn't  you  jump  when  I  hollered?"  he 


74  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

exclaimed  in  an  aggrieved  tone.  "I'm  playing 
Indian." 

Orren  was  completely  blind  to  the  negro's  piti- 
ful fright.  It  was  fully  a  minute  before  Mustard 
could  utter  a  word.  The  vital  forces  had  ceased, 
and  they  started  slowly  as  when  a  street-car  grips 
the  vital  force  of  the  cable  and  gets  going. 

"Dat  yell  wus  so  disturbin'  dat  I  felt — er — 
sorter  disturbed,  Marse  Org,"  he  sighed  weakly, 
walking  toward  the  hall  and  resting  his  hand  upon 
the  door-jamb.  "I  wus  plum'  putrified  wid  bein* 
so  skeart!" 

**You  don't  act  like  it,"  Org  snorted.  '*The 
next  time  I  yell  like  that,  you  jump!" 

"I  will,  Marse  Org,  I  shore  will!"  Mustard 
promised  him  fervently.  "I  got  to  hurry  down 
to  de  kitchen  now.     Goo-good-by ! ' ' 

Org  jerked  open  the  drawer  of  the  dressing-table, 
flirted  a  green-plush  box  which  contained  a  rab- 
bit-foot out  of  his  way,  picked  up  his  own  little 
purse  and  extracted  twelve  dollars. 

Slamming  the  drawer  shut,  he  went  racing  back 
to  the  court-house  to  pay  for  his  mule. 

XIII 

THE  HIRELINGS 

Then  Org  stopped  in  front  of  the  court-house 
and  placed  the  twelve  dollars  in  the  auctioneer's 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  75 

sweating,  dirt-begrimed  palm,  that  ftmctionary 
bellowed : 

^'Twelve,  I'm  bid,  once!  Twelve,  I'm  bid,  twice! 
Twelve,  I'm  bid,  three  times,  and  sold!  Sold  to 
this  boy  for  twelve  dollars!  Go  git  your  mule, 
son!" 

The  auctioneer  sought  a  convenient  place  to 
quench  a  consuming  thirst.  Old  Jinx  stood  in  the 
middle  of  the  street,  his  eyes  closed,  his  big,  loose 
ears  hanging  down  like  a  couple  of  banana-leaves 
that  had  broken  and  were  flapping  down  around 
the  stalk  of  the  plant.  Org  caught  hold  of  one  big 
ear  and  spoke  down  into  its  fuzzy,  dusty  depth, 
exactly  as  a  man  speaks  into  the  mouth-piece  of  a 
telephone: 

''Hello,  hello!    Wake  up!'* 

Little  Bit  placed  the  end  of  a  small  leading-rope 
into  Org's  hands  and  announced : 

''You  done  bought  a  mule,  Marse  Org.  Whut 
you  gwine  do  wid  him?" 

"What?"  Org  asked. 

**You  cain't  leave  dis  here  mule  standin'  still  an* 
blockin'  up  de  street,"  Little  Bit  explained. 
"Dey'll  arrest  dis  mule  an'  put  him  in  de  holdover 
like  dey  does  all  de  stray  cows,  an'  it'll  cost  you 
five  dollars  to  git  him  out." 

"I  haven't  got  any  five  dollars,"  Org  announced. 
"That  man  took  all  the  money  I  had." 

"I  reckin  we  better  lead  him  somewheres," 
Little  Bit  laughed. 


76  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

"Help  me  up  on  him,"  Org  commanded.  **I 
want  to  ride  him  now." 

"You  ain't  got  no  bridle,"  Little  Bit  demurred. 
"Dat  mule  ain't  know  whar  you  want  him  to  go 
'thout  no  bridle  onless  you  kin  gee-haw  him,  an' 
you  ain't  know  nothin'  about  ploughin'.  An' 
he'll  shore  take  you  back  whar  he  came  from 
ef  you  ain't  guide  him  somewhar  else." 

"I  guess  we  better  go  ahead  of  him  and  show 
him  the  way,"  Org  proposed.  Then  gazing  at  the 
closed  eyes,  he  said:  *'I  guess  we  better  take  him 
home  and  let  him  take  a  nap;  he  looks  awful 
sleepy  to  me." 

"He's  like  a  nigger,"  Little  Bit  snickered.  "A 
mule  an'  a  nigger  kin  sleep  standin'  up  an* 
walkin'!" 

At  the  foot  of  the  hill  near  the  Gaitskill  home, 
Jinx  uttered  a  loud  groan  and  sank  down  upon  his 
side,  slapping  the  earth  with  a  jolt  that  shook  the 
ground  under  their  feet. 

"Dar  now,  he  shore  come  down  wid  a  looseness 
like  he's  fixin'  to  die,"  Little  Bit  exclaimed.  "Ef 
he  dies  here  in  dis  town,  it'll  cost  you  fo'  dollars 
to  hab  him  hauled  away." 

"I  haven't  got  four  dollars,"  Org  replied,  and 
then  ran  down  the  street,  waving  his  arms  at  an 
automobile. 

The  machine  stopped  and  Dr.  Moseley  leaned 
out  and  listened : 

"Doctor,  I  know  you  ain't  a  mule  physician, 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  77 

but  I  just  bought  a  big  mule  and  he's  took  sick 
and  if  he  dies  it'll  cost  a  lot  of  money  to  have  him 
hauled  off.  I  ain't  got  the  money  to  have  him 
hauled  away,  and  so  you  must  come  and  keep 
him  from  dying." 

"Got  any  money  to  pay  my  doctor's  bill?"  the 
physician  asked. 

"No,  sir." 

"Got  any  money  to  pay  for  medicine  to  cure 
your  mule?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Charity  patient,  by  jacks!"  the  physician 
grinned. 

"No,  sir,"  Org  protested.  "Me  and  my  mule 
will  pay.  Whenever  your  automobile  breaks 
down,  I'll  let  you  ride  my  mule!" 

No  offer  could  be  fairer,  so  Org  swung  up  on  the 
foot-board  and  rode  with  the  obliging  physician 
to  the  sick-bed  of  the  mule.  That  able  physician 
had  once  been  all-boy  himself,  and  he  understood. 

"Bless  my  soul,  if  it  ain't  Jinx!"  he  laughed  as 
he  drew  near  the  prostrate  animal.  After  a  mo- 
ment's examination  he  added:  "That  mule  is 
hungry,  boys.  Feed  him!  Feed  him  quick! 
Feed  him  high!  Repeat  the  dose  three  times  a 
day  before  each  meal!" 

Laughing,  he  turned  his  automobile  and  went 
off. 

Two  hours  passed  while  the  boys  were  getting 
feed  and  watching  Jinx  eat.     They  did  not  mind 


78  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

waiting.  They  sat  on  the  ciirb  in  great  content- 
ment, discussing  their  purchase  and  planning  for 
the  future.  Several  men  and  women  passed  and 
stopped  to  chat  with  the  boys,  attracted  by  the 
novelty  of  a  mule  lying  on  the  side  of  a  road  at- 
tended by  two  small  boys.  Without  exception 
they  recognized  Jinx,  for  that  mule  was  an  es- 
tablished institution  in  Tickfall. 

When  Jinx  got  up  the  hill  to  the  Gaitskill  home 
he  appeared  very  familiar  with  the  place.  In 
fact,  he  had  been  one  of  the  Gaitskill  mules  several 
times  in  his  varied  career,  and  had  found  few  other 
places  where  he  had  been  as  well  treated. 

"I  guess  we  better  let  him  stay  in  the  front 
yard  to-night.  Little  Bit,"  Org  said  as  he  opened 
the  gate  and  turned  the  animal  in  upon  the  Gaits- 
kill lawn.  "He's  too  feeble  to  walk  back  as  far 
as  the  stable,  and  I  haven't  got  any  more  time  to 
fool  with  this  mule.  All  our  family  are  going  to 
eat  at  Captain  Kerley  Kerlerac's  home  to-night." 

The  boys  walked  back  together,  separating  at 
the  court-house,  and  Little  Bit  went  to  the  Hen- 
Scratch  saloon. 

He  found  Skeeter  Butts  in  charge — told  the 
story  of  Jinx,  incidentally  remarking  that  the 
whole  Gaitskill  family  had  gone  to  Kerlerac's  to 
eat  dinner  with  his  "boss." 

This  last  information  pleased  Skeeter  Butts 
very  much.  He  went  out  in  the  rear  of  the  saloon 
to  be  by  himself  and  think  it  over. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  79 

*'Dat  rabbit-foot  is  as  good  as  got  back  already. 
I  knows  all  about  Marse  Tom's  house.  I  done 
wucked  in  dat  house  so  much  dat  I  could  walk 
eve'ywhar  in  it  wid  my  eyes  shut.'* 

About  that  time  Hopey  Prophet  informed 
Dazzle  Zenor  of  the  absence  of  the  Gaitskill  family 
that  evening.  She  knew  the  house,  knew  the 
people,  and  while  she  had  not  quite  the  liberty  of 
an  old  family  retainer,  she  fixed  her  plans  to  take 
this  opportunity  to  raid  the  house. 

"I'll  git  dat  foot  certain,"  she  answered. 

Skeeter  waited  impatiently  until  nine  o'clock, 
then  lighted  a  cigarette  and  sauntered  out  of  the 
saloon.  Under  ordinary  circumstances  he  would 
have  entered  the  Gaitskill  house  from  the  rear. 
But,  knowing  that  no  one  was  at  home,  he  came 
to  the  front  porch  and  entered  the  front  door. 
Once  inside  the  house,  he  became  extremely  cau- 
tious. No  use  making  a  noise,  even  if  there  was 
no  one  to  hear  except  himself. 

It  was  very  dark  in  the  reception-room,  and 
while  Skeeter  was  familiar  with  the  house,  and  was 
sure  that  he  was  alone  in  it,  he  did  not  care  to  dis- 
arrange any  furniture,  and  still  less  did  he  wish  to 
fall  over  something  and  break  it.  He  crept  silently 
up  the  stairs  and  paused  within  a  few  feet  of  the 
room  he  intended  to  enter. 

He  heard  a  sound.  Listening  for  a  moment,  he 
decided  that  someone  was  moving  in  the  house, 
and  that  he  had  better  not  try  to  secure  the  rabbit- 


80  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

foot  that  night.  His  close-clipped  hair  stood  up  on 
his  head  like  pig  bristles  as  he  began  to  retreat,  and 
he  lost  no  time  in  beating  his  way  back  to  the  hall 
below.  He  started  to  open  the  front  door  and  es- 
cape that  way,  but  on  the  second  thought  he  decided 
it  would  be  safer  to  go  out  through  the  kitchen. 

As  he  passed  into  the  back  hall  he  heard  some 
one  coming  down  the  steps  of  the  back  stairs.  He 
crouched  in  a  corner,  waiting  for  the  person  to 
descend.  Whoever  it  was,  passed  within  a  few 
feet  of  him,  crossed  the  kitchen,  and  went  out  of 
the  door.     Skeeter  noiselessly  followed. 

Once  safely  outside  the  house  a  senseless 
panic  struck  him,  and  he  shot  around  the  corner 
toward  the  front  at  full  speed.  On  the  walk  in 
front  of  the  house  he  collided  with  a  terrible  force 
with  something,  the  impact  jarring  every  bone  in 
his  body,  and  for  a  moment  knocking  him  breath- 
less, senseless.  The  second  party  in  the  collision, 
with  a  whistling  expiration  of  breath  sank  limply 
against  Skeeter  Butts.  He  thrust  out  his  arms 
and  embraced  a  woman ! 

Skeeter  was  fond  of  the  lady  folks,  and  was 
usually  chivalrous.  But  on  this  occasion  he 
"dropped"  the  lady  right  there;  cut  her  dead,  so 
to  speak.  And  started  across  the  lawn  at  a  speed 
never  before  attained  by  his  pedal  extremities. 

Skeeter  traveled  crawfish  fashion;  he  went  for- 
ward, but  he  looked  back.  He  turned  to  see  where 
he  was  going,  and  there  suddenly  loomed  before 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  8i 

him  a  big,  black  object  which  looked  to  him  as 
large  as  a  house. 

It  was  Jinx,  lying  on  the  ground. 

Skeeter  hit  the  front  end  of  Jinx  first  and  fell 
sprawlingly  forward,  and  his  arms  and  legs,  out- 
spread, were  spraddled  across  Jinx's  bony  back. 
The  startled  mule,  aroused  from  his  slumber,  bel- 
lowed like  a  cow  and  began  to  get  up,  rising  in  bony 
sections,  like  a  folding  ladder. 

For  a  moment  Skeeter  hung  on  to  a  few  pro- 
truding bones,  then  he  emitted  a  little  whimpering 
sigh,  slided  off  the  bony  sides  of  the  'ever-rising 
mountain,  and  lay  fiat  upon  the  ground.  The 
second  collision  had  knocked  him  out. 

Skeeter  did  not  lose  consciousness.  He  just 
lost  breath.  It  was  a  long  time  before  he  rallied 
sufficiently  to  sit  up,  and  when  he  did  he  heard  a 
woman  weeping  softly. 

**Who  is  dat  onwindin'  dat  bawl?"  Skeeter 
inquired  softly. 

"Dis  here  is  me,"  the  woman  answered,  which 
was  enough  for  Skeeter,  for  he  knew  that  voice. 

"Whut  wus  you  doin'  in  dat  house.  Dazzle?" 
Skeeter  asked,  when  he  found  her  in  the  dark,  sit- 
ting on  the  bottom  step  of  the  porch. 

"I  wus  tryin'  to  git  dat  rabbit-foot,"  she  said 
simply. 

"How  come  you  know  about  dat  foot?" 

*'Hopey  tole  me.  I  wants  de  money  Mustard 
is  put  up  to  git  it  back." 

6 


82  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

"I  wants  dem  dollars,  too,"  Skeeter  laughed. 
"Less  go  in  togedder  an*  Vide  up  de  money  even- 
Stephen." 

"I  takes  you  on,"  Dazzle  said,  finding  comfort 
in  her  grief. 

"Not  no  more  to-night,"  Skeeter  said.  "Dar*s 
a  mule  runnin'  loose  in  dis  yard  as  big  as  a  battle- 
ship.    I  butted  him  like  a  torpedo." 

"Whut  happened?"  Dazzle  asked. 

*  *  I  wus  Jinxed, ' '  Skeeter  said  simply.  *  *  Less  go 
home." 

XIV 

THE  ALLIGATOR 

Jinx  became  the  greatest  plaything  that  Org  and 
Little  Bit  possessed.  He  could  not  fatten,  but 
under  the  care  and  treatment  he  received  he  ac- 
quired a  little  more  interest  in  life,  and  showed 
quite  a  fondness  for  his  youthful  owner. 

Gaitskill  laughed,  and  decided  that  the  mule 
would  keep  Org  out  of  mischief,  which  would 
justify  the  cost  of  its  keep.  Tickfall  smiled  at  the 
sight  of  a  little  boy  sitting  on  a  big  saddle  while 
a  diminutive  black  boy  sat  behind  him,  proud  of 
his  position  and  waving  a  greeting  to  all  his  black 
friends  as  he  passed.  Org  and  Little  Bit  would 
not  have  swapped  Jinx  for  an  automobile. 

"A  automobile  gits  out  of  fix,"  Little  Bit  said 
as  they  discussed  this  one  day.     "When  she  stops 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  83 

nothin*  kin  make  her  go.  Ef  somepin  gits  de 
matter  wid  it,  nobody  knows  whut  ails  her." 

"But  this  mule  is  different,"  Org  said  proudly. 
"I  like  something  that  wags  its  tail." 

**Dis  hay-burner  suits  me,"  Little  Bit  agreed. 

They  found  to  their  deHght  that  Jinx  was 
thoroughly  familiar  with  that  great  jungle  called 
the  Little  Moccasin  Swamp.  The  boys  could  ride 
out  to  that  swamp  upon  Jinx  and  turn  into  any 
path  which  led  into  the  jungle.  The  mule  would 
carry  them  for  miles  along  the  winding  animal 
trails,  and  then  to  their  surprise  they  would  find 
themselves  in  the  highway  again.  They  explored 
recesses  in  that  swamp  which  they  could  never 
have  reached  without  the  mule,  and  they  were 
never  uneasy  about  losing  their  way. 

They  found  great  pools  of  water  where  large 
fish  swam  that  were  easily  visible  to  the  eye,  and 
apparently  unafraid.  They  found  great  sinks  of 
vegetation  where  ugly  snakes  crawled,  and  they 
learned  that  Jinx  could  smell  a  snake  as  far  as  the 
eye  could  see,  and  that  he  had  no  desire  to  get 
near  enough  to  be  bitten.  They  saw  immense 
turtles  sunning  themselves  upon  the  logs  and 
stumps.  They  found  droves  of  wild  pigs,  ex- 
tremely dangerous  to  man  when  he  was  standing 
upon  his  two  feet,  but  harmless  when  a  four-footed 
animal  carried  them  upon  his  back. 

Hence  arose  this  matter  of  debate  between 
them:  Can  a  wild  hog  count?   If  he  cannot,  how 


84  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

does  he  know  the  difference  between  two  legs  and 
four  legs? 

They  found  an  eagle's  nest,  came  too  near,  and 
were  followed  for  miles  by  a  screaming  bird  which 
swooped  down  upon  them,  fanned  her  immense 
wings  within  an  inch  of  their  hats,  and  snapped  her 
vicious  beak  in  their  faces  with  a  noise  like  the  snip 
of  immense  shears.  Once  they  saw  a  panther 
crouched  upon  a  live-oak  limb,  his  eyes  glowing  in 
the  jungle  shadows  like  living  rubies;  the  animal 
screamed  at  them — the  only  thing  which  ever  ex- 
tracted a  burst  of  speed  from  Jinx.  They  were 
followed  for  miles  as  they  went  out  of  that 
swamp  by  that  screaming,  snarHng,  hissing,  spit- 
ting cat. 

Once  Little  Bit  turned  around  and  made  a  noise 
like  an  exploding  pop-bottle,  a  method  which  he 
had  found  efficacious  in  frightening  domestic  cats 
away.  The  vocal  answer  to  Little  Bit's  elocu- 
tionary effort  was  so  terrifying  that  Jinx  nearly 
jumped  out  of  his  skin. 

Then  one  day,  on  the  edge  of  a  little  clearing, 
they  found  a  six-foot  alligator  asleep  in  the  sun. 

They  dismounted  and  walked  closer.  The 
alligator  slept  on. 

*'How  close  can  we  get  to  this  thing  before  he 
wakes  up,  Little  Bit?"  Org  asked. 

"He's  awake  right  now,"  Little  Bit  told  him. 
"He  pretends  like  he's  so  sleepy  he's  mighty  nigh 
dead,  but  he  knows  we  is  here  all  right.    But  he 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  85 

won*t  move  till  you  gits  right  on  him,  close  enough 
to  tech  him  wid  yo'  hand." 

"What '11  he  do  then?"  Org  wanted  to  know. 

**  He'll  slap  his  tail  aroun'  and  knock  yo'  foots 
out  from  under  you  an'  bite  yo*  leg  plum'  off," 
Little  Bit  informed  him.  "He's  layin'  dar  now 
waitin'  fer  a  wild  pig  to  come  rootin'  aroun'  him 
like  wild  pigs  does  aroun'  logs.  Den  he'll  slap  'em 
wid  his  tail  an'  bite  'em  in  two." 

The  boys  backed  away,  climbed  upon  the  trunk 
of  a  fallen  tree,  and  looked  across  the  imderbrush 
at  the  alligator.  He  was  as  still  as  an  old  rusty 
stove-pipe,  which  he  somewhat  resembled. 

"Less  take  that  rope  off  our  saddle  and  rope 
him,"  Org  suggested.  "They  rope  everything  in 
California,  cattle  and  everything." 

"Who's  gwine  put  dat  rope  aroun'  dat  alliga- 
tor?" Little  Bit  asked. 

"You  can  do  that,"  Org  replied  as  he  untied  the 
rope  from  the  saddle. 

"Mebbe  I  kin,  but  I  ain't  gwine  to,"  Little  Bit 
asserted,  climbing  up  on  the  back  of  the  mule. 
"Little  Bit  don't  choose  but  a  little  bit  of  alligator 
in  his'n.     Dis  mule  don't  hanker  fer  none." 

"All  right,  'fraid  cat,"  Org  taunted.  "You 
hold  the  mule,  and  I'll  throw  the  rope." 

Like  most  boys  who  had  lived  in  the  West,  Org 
had  often  played  with  a  rope,  looping  it  and  throw- 
ing it  in  imitation  of  the  cowmen.  He  climbed 
upon  a  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  about  thirty  feet  from 


86  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

the  quiescent  alligator,  coiled  the  rope,  and  threw 
it  with  wonderful  luck.  The  coil  straightened, 
and  the  open  loop  fell  right  in  front  of  the 
alligator. 

In  the  less  remote  sections  the  alligator  is  fear- 
ful, for  it  has  learned  the  menace  of  man.  But 
this  one  had  possibly  never  seen  a  human  being 
before.  When  the  rope  fell  it  moved  forward  a  few 
feet  and  became  quiet  again.  Org  gave  the  rope  a 
quick  jerk,  and  the  loop  caught  under  one  of  the 
alligator's  front  feet  and  over  his  head.  Org  was 
standing  by  a  limb  upon  the  fallen  tree,  bracing 
himself  to  keep  his  balance.  Quickly  he  twisted 
his  end  of  the  rope  around  the  limb  and  tied  it. 

The  creature  was  still  unaware  that  it  was  cap- 
tive. Org  threw  a  few  branches  from  the  tree  in 
its  direction,  and  it  crawled  slowly  forward  a  few 
feet.     At  last  it  came  to  the  end  of  the  rope. 

A  hoarse,  coughlike  bark  rang  through  the 
forest,  and  instantly  that  six-foot  alligator  was  a 
snarling  fury  as  it  entered  into  combat  with  its 
bonds.  For  ten  minutes  the  two  frightened  boys 
beheld  the  most  terrifying  spectacle  they  had  ever 
imagined.  Org  scuttled  down  from  the  tree- 
trunk  and  took  refuge  with  Little  Bit  upon  the 
back  of  the  mule,  making  ready  for  instant  flight. 

Within  a  radius  of  that  rope  the  alligator  beat 
down  the  marsh-grass  as  flat  as  if  a  road-rolling 
machine  had  passed  over  it.  He  got  into  the  low 
underbrush  and  pounded  it  down,  making  a  noise 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  87 

like  an  express-train  with  his  powerful  clawing 
feet  and  his  slapping  tail.  He  roared  and  raised 
himself  almost  upright  on  his  tail,  and  clawed  at 
the  rope  with  his  front  feet  as  a  man  would  fight 
with  his  hands,  and  snapped  his  great  jaws  to- 
gether like  the  slapping  of  two  clapboards. 

But  he  could  never  succeed  in  getting  the  rope 
between  his  teeth,  for  the  reason  that  he  could  not 
turn  his  head  or  lower  his  chin.  Finally,  in  an 
awful  burst  of  fury,  he  threw  himself  backward, 
rolled  over  and  over,  slapping,  thrashing,  clawing, 
snarling,  uttering  awful  coughlike  barks  to  which 
a  thousand  echoes  in  the  forest  responded  in  kind. 
The  boys  wondered  at  the  creature's  catlike  agility, 
shuddered  at  the  concentrated  venomous  fury  of 
the  battle,  quivered  with  awe  at  the  agonizing, 
snarling  vociferation  emitted  from  between  those 
terrible,  gnashing,  snapping  teeth. 

Yet  the  very  configuration  of  the  woods  fought 
for  the  boys.  The  rope  was  constantly  taut,  for 
the  reason  that  it  could  hardly  be  moved  without 
becoming  entangled  with  roots  and  cypress  knees 
and  the  tough  underbrush  and  the  clinging,  almost 
unbreakable  vines  called  bamboo.  The  struggle 
against  these  obstacles  slowly  exhausted  the  alliga- 
tor's strength. 

At  last  he  sank  down  and  remained  quiet. 

After  a  while  the  boys  mustered  their  courage 
and  crept  forward  to  see.  They  found  their  cap- 
tive had  twisted  the  rope  around  the  cypress  knee? 


88  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

and  projecting  roots  until  he  was  tied  to  the  ground 
and  helpless.  His  eyes  were  not  sleepy  now.  They 
glowed  with  baleful  flames,  ugly,  piglike,  with 
glints  of  green  in  their  fires  of  fury.  The  big 
mouth  gapped  wide  when  he  saw  the  boys,  and  the 
jaws  snapped  with  frightful  force. 

After  a  consultation,  the  two  boys  ran  across 
the  clearing  to  a  switch-cane  jungle  and  cut  two 
long  cane  poles.  Returning  with  these,  they  began 
to  prod  and  torment  the  alligator,  thrusting  the 
poles  into  his  mouth  when  he  opened  it;  and  when 
he  no  longer  would  let  them  look  at  his  tongue, 
they  still  pursued  their  medical  examination  by 
punching  him  in  every  place  where  they  thought 
he  might  have  a  particularly  tender  spot. 

This  roused  him  to  another  performance,  a  fury 
of  struggle  in  which  he  fought  and  roared  and 
barked  and  clawed  at  the  rope,  and  thrashed  with 
his  tail,  and  chased  the  two  boys  up  a  tree  until  his 
activities  abated. 

All  day  long  they  tormented  the  alligator,  ex- 
hausting every  resource  in  their  efforts  to  get  him, 
as  they  expressed  it,  ' '  to  cut  up  some  more. ' '  But 
after  five  or  six  hours  there  was  no  more  fight  in  him. 

When  the  alligator  showed  plainly  that  he  had 
made  positively  his  last  appearance  as  an  enter- 
tainer, the  boys  decided  it  was  time  to  start  for 
home. 

"How  we  gwine  git  our  rope  back?"  Little  Bit 
asked. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  89 

*'Let  that  old  sucker  keep  his  old  rope.  I  don't 
want  it,"  Org  said,  wiping  the  sweat  from  his  face 
on  the  sleeve  of  his  shirt  and  sitting  down  in  utter 
weariness. 

*  *  Marse  Tom  will  bust  us  ef  we  leaves  dat  rope 
out  in  dese  here  woods,"  Little  Bit  warned  him. 
''Ropes  comes  high  in  de  store  ef  you  got  to  pay 
fer  'em." 

* '  I'll  tell  Uncle  Tom  where  it  is,  and  let  him  come 
after  it  when  he  wants  it,"  Org  replied. 

*  *  You  better  not  let  dat  white  man  know  we  been 
out  here  monkeyin'  wid  a  alligator,"  Little  Bit 
said.  "He'll  sell  our  mule  an'  put  me  in  jail  an' 
flay  de  hide  off  en  you." 

* '  That's  so, ' '  Org  agreed.  ' '  Well,  the  old  alHga- 
tor  is  nearly  dead.  Let's  tie  our  end  of  the  rope  to 
the  saddle  and  make  old  Jinx  drag  the  alligator  up 
to  the  house.  Then  when  he  dies  we  can  get  the 
rope  off  him." 

Little  Bit  agreed  to  this,  and  it  was  not  hard  to 
do.  They  had  whipped  the  alligator  until  there 
was  no  more  fight  in  him,  and  wearied  him  until 
there  was  not  more  strength  to  fight.  Their  hard- 
est work  was  untwisting  the  rope,  for  as  they  got 
nearer  to  the  alligator  they  had  to  pry  the  rope 
from  around  the  roots  and  snags  with  a  pole.  They 
never  got  the  courage  to  get  close  to  those  jaws 
which  had  snapped  at  them  so  terribly. 

Jinx  did  not  object  to  a  little  light  hauling  when 
a  white  boy  walked  on  one  side  and  a  black  boy  on 


90  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

the  other,  acting  as  escort  of  honor.  The  alliga- 
tor was  easily  dragged  over  the  marsh-grass  and 
along  the  animal  trails  toward  the  town.  Although 
dragged  for  over  three  miles,  he  at  no  time  showed 
resistance  or  attempted  to  "cut  up.** 

In  the  rear  of  the  Gaitskill  stables  there  was  a 
large  pig-pen,  to  which  admittance  was  gained  by 
a  gate.  Org  led  the  mule  in  such  a  way  that  the 
alligator  faced  the  gate.  Then  he  led  the  mule 
around  to  the  other  side  of  the  pen,  led  him  for- 
ward, and  thus  dragged  the  alligator  through  the 
open  gate. 

Then  the  boys  took  a  rake,  hung  one  of  the  teeth 
through  the  loop  in  the  rope,  and  by  considerable 
juggling  they  managed  to  make  the  loop  loose  and 
large. 

"Now,  if  he  kicks  around  any  before  he  dies, 
he'll  walk  out  of  that  rope,"  Org  announced. 
"Then  we  won't  have  to  say  anything  about  it." 

"Dat  big  old  animile  ain't  gwine  die,"  Little 
Bit  chuckled.  "Us  ain't  hurt  him  none,  an'  by 
dis  time  to-morrer  he'll  be  ready  to  fix  fer  anodder 
fight." 

"I'm  through  fighting  alligators,"  Org  said 
wearily.  "I  never  was  as  hungry  and  tired  in  my 
life.  But  we'll  keep  this  old  sucker  in  his  pen  and 
make  him  our  pet  alligator." 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  91 

XV 

BLASTING  POWDER 

Org  and  Little  Bit  loved  to  play  in  an  old  store- 
house situated  in  the  corner  of  the  yard  in  the  rear 
of  Gaitskill's  home.  There  was  a  reason.  Both 
loved  sweets,  and  in  that  house  was  where  Colonel 
Gaitskill  stored  his  famous  ribbon-cane  sirup. 

This  sweet,  so  famous  in  the  State,  is  not  mar- 
ketable. When  once  it  is  put  in  a  barrel  or  other 
container,  it  cannot  be  moved  or  it  will  turn  to  su- 
gar. Even  with  the  greatest  care,  it  is  pretty  sure 
to  turn  sugary  before  it  is  all  used  up.  The  sugar 
forms  first  a  hard  crust  around  the  inside  of  the 
barrel  and  around  the  spigot  from  which  it  is 
drawn.  Sometimes  you  can  turn  that  spigot  on 
full  and  the  stream  will  be  a  tiny  thread  of  liquid 
sweetness  which  flows  with  exasperating  slowness. 
A  moment  later  the  sugary  obstruction  may  break 
from  around  the  spigot,  and  after  that,  the  flood ! 

Doubtless  Shakespeare  had  such  a  catastrophe 
in  mind  when  he  wrote  of 

The  taste  of  sweetness,  whereof  a  little 
More  than  a  little  is  by  much  too  much. 

Half  a  dozen  times  a  day  Org  and  Little  Bit 
slipped  into  this  storeroom,  turned  on  the  spigot 
of  the  sirup  barrel,  caught  the  tiny  stream  of  sweet- 
ness in  the  palms  of  their  hands,  and  lapped  it  out 
with  their  tongues. 


92  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

They  were  at  that  enjoyable  diversion  now. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  loud  whoop  of  fright  from 
the  direction  of  the  orchard  where  Mustard 
Prophet  had  gone  to  gather  some  figs  for  lunch. 
The  boys  ran  to  the  door  and  looked  out.  They 
saw  Mustard  climb  down  from  a  rickety  step- 
ladder,  fold  that  ladder  together  and  hurl  it  in  the 
direction  of  some  object.  Then  he  came  out  of 
that  orchard,  stepping  high  like  a  turkey  wading 
through  mud,  looking  constantly  behind  him,  and 
making  as  many  different  noises  with  his  mouth  as 
a  whole  brass-band. 

Hopey,  thinking  he  had  been  bitten  by  a  snake, 
met  him  half-way  to  the  house. 

"Whut  ails  you,  Mustard?"  she  asked. 

*  *  My  Gawd,  Hopey ! "  he  panted.  ' '  Dar's  a  alliga- 
tor out  in  dat  orchard  f awty  feet  long !    I  seen  it ! '  * 

The  noise  Mustard  made  had  brought  all  the 
members  of  the  family  out  to  see  what  the  trouble 
was.  When  he  told  them  of  seeing  the  alligator, 
Org  said  nothing,  and  the  others  of  the  household 
were  skeptical  and  laughed  at  him. 

"How  do  you  know  you  saw  an  alligator?" 
Colonel  Gaitskill  asked. 

**I  throwed  a  step-ladder  at  it,  Marse  Tom," 
Mustard  wailed.     "It  wus  longer  dan  de  ladder." 

"Come  back  to  the  orchard  and  show  me," 
Gaitskill  ordered. 

"Naw,  suh!"  Mustard  whooped.  "Go  look 
f  er  yo'se'f ,  boss.    Dis  nigger  is  done  seen  a-plenty !" 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  93 

**Whut  wus  he  doin*  in  dat  orchard?"  Hopey 
howled. 

"He  wus  aimin*  to  climb  dat  step-ladder  an* 
bite  my  leg  off  when  I  seen  him,"  Mustard  shud- 
dered. ' '  I  gib  him  de  ladder  an'  tole  him  he  could 
take  my  place!" 

** Don't  make  so  much  noise,  Mustard,"  Gaits- 
kill  commanded,  as  he  turned  away  and  entered 
the  house.  Nobody  credited  Mustard's  story, 
except  Org  and  Little  Bit,  and  they  slipped  away 
as  soon  as  they  could  to  see  if  their  alHgator  was 
still  in  captivity. 

They  found  that  he  had  escaped,  and  a  broad 
trail  led  across  the  dust  of  the  pig-lot  toward  the 
orchard.  The  alligator  had  crawled  through  a 
hole.  The  boys  promptly  decided  not  to  enter 
the  orchard  for  any  purpose  whatsoever.  Think- 
ing further,  they  decided  they  had  better  absent 
themselves  from  home  for  the  day,  for  that  alliga- 
tor might  do  all  sorts  of  sensational  stunts,  and 
they  had  seen  enough  of  his  performances  the 
day  before. 

Besides,  Colonel  Gaitskill  might  want  to  know 
how  the  creature  got  on  the  premises,  and  Org 
had  found  that  the  best  way  to  avoid  answering 
questions  was  to  be  where  questions  could  not  be 
addressed  to  him. 

At  that  moment  there  came  to  the  ears  of  the 
two  boys  a  dull  explosion.  They  turned  their 
faces  in  the  direction  of  the  sound  and  left  home. 


94  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

It  is  a  pity  that  they  did  not  first  return  to  the 
storehouse  and  turn  off  the  spigot  of  the  molasses 
barrel.  But  they  did  not.  That  sirup  ran  two 
days  and  one  night ! 

One  of  the  annoyances  of  agriculture  in  Louisi- 
ana is  stumps.  Whenever  a  farmer  undertakes  to 
blast  the  stumps  out  of  the  ground  with  dynamite 
or  powder,  he  is  sure  to  have  a  crowd  of  small  boys 
to  watch  him.  Org  had  been  on  the  trail  of  the 
dynamiters  for  a  number  of  days.  Whenever 
they  heard  an  explosion,  they  knew  that  some 
farmer  was  having  a  celebration  of  fireworks  and 
profanity,  and  they  hurried  to  the  spot,  guided  by 
the  explosive  noises. 

By  being  around,  they  had  surreptitiously  ac- 
quired a  number  of  dynamite  caps,  also  several 
yards  of  fuse  in  various  lengths.  The  sound  they 
had  heard  a  few  minutes  before  was  over  in  the 
direction  of  the  Cooley  bayou,  and  they  went. 

What  they  saw  when  they  got  there,  put  the 
fear  of  dynamite  in  their  souls  forever. 

There  was  a  man  who  lived  on  the  Cooley  bayou 
who  walked  on  a  wooden  peg.  He  had  attempted 
to  dynamite  a  fish-hole.  He  lighted  the  fuse  of 
the  dynamite  stick  and  walked  toward  the  pool  to 
toss  the  stick  into  the  water.  His  wooden  peg 
found  a  soft  place  in  the  earth,  and  he  sank  into  the 
mire  up  to  his  knees.  He  pitched  forward  on  his 
face,  the  stick  of  dynamite  fell  from  his  hand  and 
rolled  just  a  few  feet  out  of  reach.     The  peg  leg 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  95 

was  twisted  under  the  sod  and  marsh-grass  in 
such  a  way  that  the  unfortunate  man  could  not 
tear  himself  loose  and  escape  from  the  stick  of 
dynamite. 

The  explosion  tore  a  hole  in  the  ground  in  which 
a  large  automobile  might  have  been  easily  con- 
cealed, and  friends  of  the  cripple  found  scraps  of 
him  hanging  in  the  trees  a  hundred  yards  away. 

Org  and  Little  Bit  arrived  just  in  time  to  view 
the  effects  of  the  tragedy,  and  came  away  with  a 
deep  impression  of  the  explosive  power  of  dyna- 
mite. 

'*  Dat  stuff  ain't  nothin'  fer  us  to  fool  wid,  Marse 
Org,"  Little  Bit  said  earnestly.  ''Jes'  look  whut 
dat  little  stick  of  dynamite  done  to  dat  big  growed- 
up  man.  Ef  a  wad  of  dynamite  wus  to  bust  close 
to  us,  de  white  folks  would  hab  to  put  on  deir 
readin'  specks  to  find  de  pieces,  an'  dey'd  tote  us 
bofe  back  to  Tickfall  on  a  shingle." 

"I  know  where  plenty  of  blasting  powder  is," 
Org  remarked.  ''Uncle  Tom  has  a  whole  keg  of 
powder  in  his  barn." 

"Dat's  de  stuff  fer  us  to  monkey  wid,"  Little 
Bit  agreed.  **Us  don't  hab  to  play  wid  so  much 
at  one  time  dat  we  git  blowed  plum'  away." 

They  found  the  keg  of  powder  and  carried  it 
down  to  the  little  branch  which  ran  around  the 
edge  of  the  town.  They  were  very  careful  as  they 
went  around  the  stable,  not  to  step  on  the  alligator. 
As  they  carried  their  powder  away,  they  looked 


96  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

back  frequently  to  assure  themselves  that  the 
alligator  was  not  in  pursuit.  When  at  last  they 
had  reached  the  woods,  they  decided  that  it  would 
be  a  good  idea  to  make  several  loud  explosions  to 
scare  the  alligator  and  keep  him  from  coming  in 
that  direction. 

They  spent  several  hours  experimenting  with 
the  powder,  enjoying  themselves  in  a  variety  of 
dangerous  ways  without  coming  to  any  harm. 

Then  Little  Bit  thought  of  a  hollow  log  under 
the  wooden  bridge  that  crossed  this  little  branch 
on  the  road  to  the  Nigger-Heel  plantation.  The 
log  was  about  four  feet  long,  the  hollow  through 
the  center  being  about  four  inches  in  diameter, 
and  extending  nearly  the  entire  length.  To  the 
imagination  of  boys,  this  thing  would  be  suggestive 
of  a  cannon.  When  Little  Bit  showed  the  log  to 
Orren  Gaitskill,  that  was  the  first  thought  in  his 
mind. 

*'  Let's  put  some  gunpowder  in  this  log  and 
shoot  her  ofiE,"  he  proposed.  "It's  just  like  a 
cannon." 

**Us  ain*t  got  no  fuse-hole,"  Little  Bit  remarked. 

**We  can  go  up  to  Uncle  Tom's  and  borrow  a 
auger  and  bore  a  fuse-hole,"  Org  replied.  '*I 
know  where  an  auger  is." 

They  concealed  their  keg  of  powder  imder  some 
brush  and  spent  an  hour  going  after  the  tool,  play- 
ing along  the  road  both  coming  and  going.  Then 
they  took  turns  in  working,  as  they  bored  the  hole. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  97 

'*Less  load  her  up  now  and  shoot  off,  and  that 
'11  make  an  end  of  a  perfect  day,"  Org  remarked, 
quoting  a  part  of  a  song  he  had  heard  his  sister 
sing  to  Captain  Kerlerac. 

Dis  ole  cannon  is  gwine  use  up  all  our  powder," 
Little  Bit  declared,  as  he  peeped  up  the  hollow  to 
where  the  light  of  the  fuse-hole  showed. 

"We  don't  care,"  Org  laughed.  "This  powder 
don't  cost  us  nothing." 

They  placed  their  fuse  properly,  then  emptied 
the  contents  of  the  keg  into  the  muzzle  of  the  log 
cannon.  They  rammed  the  charge  home  with  a 
number  of  old  sacks  which  they  had  been  thought- 
ful enough  to  pick  up  in  the  barn  and  bring  with 
them  when  they  went  after  the  augur.  Then  they 
added  several  hat-loads  of  leaves  and  grass  which 
they  mixed  with  mud  from  the  branch.  After 
that  they  charged  the  "cannon"  to  the  very  end 
with  great  quantities  of  sod  torn  up  from  the  edge 
of  the  branch  and  rammed  hard  into  the  muzzle 
with  the  blunt  end  of  a  big  stick. 

"Now  she's  ready  to  shoot.  Who's  going  to 
light  the  fuse?"  Org  asked. 

*  *  Not  me, ' '  Little  Bit  said  positively.  "  I'm  jes* 
a  little  fool  nigger,  an'  ain't  to  be  trusted  wid  no 
important  jobs." 

"I'll  light  the  fuse,"  Org  announced.  "Go  up 
on  the  road  and  see  if  anybody  is  coming. 

Little  Bit  ran  up  on  the  little  frail  wooden 
bridge  which  was  about  twelve  feet  long,  made  a 


98  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

survey,  and  announced  that  all  was  clear.  Then 
he  ran  far  over  in  the  woods. 

Org  lighted  the  fuse  and  followed  his  black  com- 
panion at  his  best  speed.  When  they  reached 
what  they  thought  was  a  safe  distance,  they 
paused  and  waited. 

The  idea  of  the  boys  was  that  the  powder 
would  simply  shoot  the  mud  out  of  the  log, 
just  as  a  bullet  is  propelled  from  the  muzzle 
of  a  gun.  But  blasting  powder  is  not  a  propul- 
sive force;  it  is  something  that  rends  and  tears, 
exerting  as  much  pressure  in  one  direction  as  in 
another. 

Therefore  the  boys  were  very  much  surprised, 
when  they  heard  the  explosion,  to  see  the  frail 
wooden  bridge  which  spanned  the  narrow  branch 
rise  in  the  air,  break  into  a  number  of  pieces,  and 
scatter  all  over  the  place! 

The  log  cannon  went  to  pieces  also. 

The  boys  went  somewhere  else.  They  did  not 
run.  They  could  easily  have  overtaken  and 
passed  anybody  that  was  merely  running.  They 
just  went  away  from  there. 

When  completely  overcome  by  exhaustion,  they 
dropped  down  under  a  tree  far  away  from  the 
scene  of  their  exploit.  When,  after  a  long  time, 
they  had  somewhat  recovered  their  composure  and 
their  breath,  they  began  to  plan  for  the  future, 
when,  as  they  thought,  they  would  have  to  give 
an  account  of  themselves. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  99 

"  What  does  the  law  do  to  a  feller  that  busts  up  a 
bridge,  Little  Bit?"  Org  asked. 

"Ef  he's  a  nigger,  like  me,  dey  hangs  him,** 
Little  Bit  shuddered. 

**But  if  he's  white?"  Org  inquired. 

"Dey  shoots  him,"  Little  Bit  said. 

**Then  we  won't  confess,"  Org  announced 
decisively. 

They  meditated  awhile,  and  again  Org  asked  a 
question. 

* ' Did  anybody  see  us  with  that  kag  of  powder? " 

*'Nope.     Us  wus  all  alone." 

**Then  we  needn't  say  anything  about  that 
kag,"  Org  declared.  "Uncle  Tom  won't  miss  it 
for  some  time." 

"Don't  we  say  nothin'  about  nothin*  bustin*?'* 
Little  Bit  asked. 

"No." 

'  *  Look  at  all  de  scratches  dat  de  briars  cut  on  my 
face  when  I  wus  runnin'  away,"  Little  Bit  pointed. 
"How's  I  gwine  esplain  dese  here  scratches?  I 
got  to  say  dat  somepin'  busted  on  me,  ain't  I?" 

"No,  you  fool!"  Org  exclaimed.  "Don't  you 
ever  confess  that  anything  busted  on  you  or  that 
you  were  ever  round  any  busting  thing.  Tell  'em 
that  you  cut  your  face — er " 

"You  had  better  think  up  a  powerful  good  lie," 
Little  Bit  quavered.  ' '  My  mammy,  she  kin  ketch 
on  powerful  easy  to  tales." 

' '  Tell  her  that  you  cut  your  face — er — shaving !  ** 


100  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

Org  replied,  uttering  the  last  word  with  triumph- 
ant emphasis. 

"Dat  shows  you  don't  know  nothin*  about 
niggers,"  Little  Bit  scoffed.  "Most  niggers  ain*t 
got  no  hair  on  deir  face  an'  don't  never  hab  to  shave. 
A  nigger  whut  kin  grow  a  moustacher  an'  whiskers 
— he's  proud  of  hisse'f !" 

"Aw,  shucks,"  Org  said  in  disgust.  "That 
ruins  our  perfectly  good  excuse." 

"My  face  don't  look  like  it's  been  cut  with  a 
razor,"  Little  Bit  said  obstinately.  "It  looks  like 
it's  been  sawed  acrost  wid  a  lot  of  blackberry 
briars,  dat's  whut." 

"I  know  it  does,  but  you've  got  to  tell  some 
kind  of  tale  to  keep  us  from  being  found  out,"  Org 
said  impatiently. 

"We  don't  hab  to  tell  nothin',"  Little  Bit  sighed. 
"Dat  bridge  will  say  a  plum'  plenty.  It'll  preach 
a  whole  sermont." 

"Don't  you  say  nothing  about  that  bridge,'* 
Org  howled.     '  *  Keep  your  mouth  shut. ' ' 

"S'pose  de  white  folks  axes  me?" 

"Tell  'em  you  don't  know  anything." 

"I'll  tell  'em  dat,"  Little  Bit  said  doubtfully. 
"But  ain't  gwine  bear  down  on  dat  very  hard.  Ef 
a  nigger  tells  too  many  lies.  Gawd  '11  kill  him ! " 

"If  you  don't  tell  a  few  about  that  bridge  the 
white  folks  will  kill  you  before  God  can  get  around 
to  you,"  Org  declared. 

Then  there  popped  into  Orren's  head,  the  final 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  loi 

recourse  of  all  the  guilty,  the  establishment  of  a 
false  alibi. 

"Come  on,"  he  howled,  springing  to  his  feet. 
**  We'll  go  back  to  town  and  prove  to  everybody 
that  we  have  not  been  in  the  woods  at  all  to-day. 
We'll  let  'em  see  us." 

XVI 

A  PAIR  OF  FEET 

Dazzle  Zenor  went  to  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon 
and  sent  word  to  Skeeter  that  she  must  see  him 
right  away.  When  he  came  out  to  the  rear,  she 
lost  no  time  in  stating  her  business. 

**Hopey  jes'  come  to  my  place  an'  tole  me  dat 
dar  ain't  no  Gaitskills  at  home.  Org  an'  Little 
Bit  is  goned  to  de  woods ;  Marse  Tom  is  down  to 
de  bank,  an'  ole  miss  an'  Miss  Virginny  is  gone  out 
fer  a  automobile  ride;  Mustard  Prophet  is  gone 
out  to  de  Nigger-Heel  plantation,  an'  is  takin' 
Hopey  an'  Popsy  Spout  wid  him  to  give  'em  a 
outin'.     Now  is  yo'  time  to  git  de  rabbit-foot." 

*'Yes'm,"  Skeeter  agreed.  "Dis  time  am 
choosen  of  de  Lawd.     Is  you  willin'  to  he'p  me?" 

**Suttinly.     I's  in  on  de  reeward  bill." 

**Dis  is  de  plan,"  Skeeter  said.  "I  walks  up 
to  Marse  Tom's  jes'  easylike,  kinder  moseyin* 
along,  an'  I  sneaks  in  de  back  way  an'  I  sneaks  out 
de  back  way  an'  I  walks  down  de  back  side  of  de 


102  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

hill  an'  makes  a  roundance  to  de  road  at  de  front 
of  de  bottom  of  de  hill." 

"Dat's  de  properest  way  to  do,"  Dazzle  said. 

*'Yo'  plan  is  dis,"  Skeeter  continued.  **You 
drives  my  little  automobile  an'  waits  fer  me  at  de 
foot  of  de  hill  on  de  side  of  de  road.  You  Jceeps 
dat  engyne  runnin'  an'  you  heads  dat  machine 
to'rds  out  of  town.  We  goes  straight  to  de  Nigger- 
Heel  an'  gits  our  money." 

For  half  an  hour  Dazzle  amused  herself  by  rid- 
ing around  the  town.  It  was  Saturday  afternoon, 
a  great  crowd  of  country  negroes  was  in  Tickfall, 
and  the  girl  showed  her  skill  as  a  driver  by  seeing 
how  close  she  could  shave  to  the  tail  of  the  farm- 
wagons  and  the  rear  end  of  the  mules  and  horses 
and  cattle  that  were  on  the  street. 

At  one  corner  there  was  a  drove  of  mules  wait- 
ing to  be  sold  at  auction;  a  little  farther  up  the 
street  there  was  a  herd  of  bony  cattle  that  had 
been  driven  down  from  the  hill  farms  to  be  sold; 
at  another  point  there  was  a  flock  of  sheep  lying 
in  the  dust,  panting  with  the  heat.  Around  each 
of  these  there  stood  dozens  of  negroes,  inspecting 
what  was  for  sale  whether  they  intended  to  buy 
or  not.  Dazzle  greeted  all  these  friends  from  the 
country,  but  firmly  refused  all  requests  for  a  ride, 
for  she  was  watching  the  time,  and  was  determined 
to  be  at  the  meeting-place  when  Skeeter  arrived. 

Skeeter  sauntered  around  the  streets  for  a  little 
while,  watching  the  auctioneer  in  his  business  and 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  103 

admiring  his  line  of  talk.  Then  he  slipped  quietly 
out  of  the  crowded  street  and  hurried  to  the  home 
of  Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill. 

It  was  not  difficult  or  dangerous  to  rob  a  house 
with  nobody  at  home.  Satisfying  himself  by  an 
inspection,  that  he  was  really  alone  on  the  prem- 
ises, Skeeter  entered  through  the  kitchen,  went 
into  the  little  back  hall,  climbed  the  back  stairs, 
and  entered  the  room  of  Miss  Virginia  Gaitskill. 
He  opened  the  drawer  in  her  dresser  and  took  out 
the  green-plush  box,  being  careful  not  to  disar- 
range anything  in  the  drawer.  He  paused  long 
enough  to  open  the  box  and  assure  himself  that 
the  rabbit-foot  was  in  it,  then  he  placed  the  box 
in  the  inner  pocket  of  his  coat  and  went  out  as 
quietly  as  he  had  come. 

It  had  been  so  easy  that  he  decided  to  go  out 
the  front  way  and  thus  avoid  the  long  detour 
necessary  if  he  went  down  the  hill  on  the  far  side 
and  had  to  walk  around  to  the  road.  He  peeped 
around  the  corner  of  the  house  in  the  front,  and 
dodged  back  in  a  hurry. 

He  saw  Org  and  Little  Bit  climbing  over  the 
fence  into  the  horse-lot.  They  looked  tired,  as  if 
they  had  run  a  long  distance,  and  they  looked 
either  excited  or  scared,  as  if  something  unusual 
had  happened;  and  they  were  in  a  hurry,  for  they 
climbed  the  fence  rather  than  take  the  time  to 
open  and  shut  the  gate. 

Skeeter's  short  hair  stood  upon  his  cranium  like 


104  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

hog-bristles.  Had  Orren  Randolph  Gaitskill 
found  out  in  some  way  that  he  was  trying  to  steal 
the  rabbit-foot?  Could  Little  Bit  have  been 
around  the  saloon  and  overheard  the  conversation 
about  the  rabbit-foot  between  himself  and  Dazzle? 
Were  they  coming  to  the  house  now  to  protect 
this  precious  green-plush  box  from  theft  ? 

*'I  reckin  Fs  gwine  take  de  long  roun dance," 
Skeeter  muttered  in  a  panicky  tone  as  he  ran  with 
all  his  speed  toward  the  rear  of  the  house,  keeping 
the  building  between  himself  and  the  two  boys, 
and  when  he  started  down  the  hill,  dodging  from 
bush  to  bush  like  a  rabbit. 

But  the  boys  had  something  on  their  minds  be- 
sides Skeeter  Butts.  On  their  long  run  from  the 
little  branch  where  the  bridge  had  been  blown  up. 
Org  had  thought  of  something  that  would  attract 
the  attention  of  the  people  in  Tickfall  and  register 
in  their  minds  the  fact  that  he  and  Little  Bit  were 
in  town. 

Org  had  ridden  with  his  Uncle  Tom  in  the  auto- 
mobile, and  had  seen  Colonel  Gaitskill  shut  off  the 
power  from  the  engine  and  coast  down  the  hill  from 
his  house  to  the  town.  This  had  given  Org  an  idea 
on  which  he  had  been  working  for  several  days. 
Under  a  shed  in  the  rear  of  the  Gaitskill  stable 
there  was  an  abandoned,  worn-out  buggy,  with- 
out any  shafts.  Org  had  tied  a  rope  to  each  end 
of  the  front  axle  near  the  front  wheels,  and  had 
found  by  experiment  that  he  could  guide  the  buggy 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  105 

by  pulling  on  the  rope,  just  as  if  he  were  driving  a 
horse.  Little  Bit  had  pushed  the  buggy  around 
the  smooth,  level  horse-lot  and  Org  had  been  able 
to  guide  it  without  difficulty. 

So  now,  confronting  this  emergency,  he  decided 
that  the  best  game  he  could  play  would  be  that  of 
coasting  down  the  Gaitskill  hill  toward  the  town 
in  that  old  buggy.  It  would  be  plenty  of  fun  of  a 
kind  that  would  attract  attention  from  those  in 
town. 

He  instructed  Little  Bit  what  to  do,  and  the  two 
boys  pushed  the  buggy  out  of  the  horse-lot  and 
stopped  it  on  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Org  climbed 
into  his  buggy  on  the  top  of  the  hill  just  about  the 
time  that  Skeeter  Butts  seated  himself  in  his  auto- 
mobile beside  Dazzle  Zenor  at  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

The  two  started  about  the  same  time. 

Skeeter  planned  to  go  up  the  street  about  a 
block,  then  turn  to  his  right  and  go  out  the  princi- 
pal street  to  the  Nigger-Heel  plantation. 

Org  expected  to  stop  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and 
push  his  buggy  back  to  the  top  and  coast  down 
again. 

One  thing  that  Org  had  overlooked  was  that  his 
Uncle  Tom's  automobile  had  a  brake.  The  buggy 
lacked  that  very  important  accessory,  and  when 
Little  Bit  pushed  it  off  and  climbed  on  behind,  it 
had  not  traveled  one  hundred  feet  until  it  was  go- 
ing thirty  miles  an  hour.  Half-way  down  the  hill 
it  was  ** doing  fifty,"  and  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  it 


io6  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

was  just  a  rattling  horror  of  incredible  speed  with 
momentum  enough  to  carry  it  half  a  mile  on  a 
level  road. 

That  Providence  which  looks  out  for  fools, 
drunken  men,  and  children,  gave  the  buggy  just 
the  right  turn  at  the  right  time  to  shoot  it  out 
toward  Main  Street.  Its  momentum  carried  it 
across  the  street  like  a  rocket,  sent  it  plunging 
madly  across  the  court-house  lawn,  hurled  it  into 
the  middle  of  a  lot  in  the  rear  of  the  court-house 
where  the  country  people  hitched  their  horses  and 
mules,  and  there  it  ended  its  sensational  and  spec- 
tacular flight  by  colliding  with  a  hitching-rack, 
spilling  out  the  two  boys  like  peas  are  tossed  from 
a  spoon,  and  tearing  itself  to  pieces ! 

The  two  youngsters  sprang  up  unhurt  and  made 
tracks  away  from  there. 

One  old  mule  had  seen  the  buggy  coming  over 
the  court-house  lawn  with  nothing  to  pull  it  and 
nothing  to  push  it.  It  did  not  look  natural  to 
him;  it  made  the  same  impression  on  him  that 
a  pair  of  pants  would  make  on  you  if  you  saw 
the  pants  coming  down  the  street  with  nobody  in 
them. 

That  mule  opened  his  great  mouth  and  uttered  a 
trumpetlike  bray  just  as  the  vehicle  hung  up  on  the 
hitching-rack.  Then  mister  mule  broke  his  bridle 
and  went  galloping  up  the  street,  looking  back 
and  bawling  with  every  jump. 

Every  mule  in  the  hitching-lot  promptly  broke 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  107 

loose  and  went  galloping  after  the  first  mule,  also 
looking  back  at  the  strange  vehicle  which  had 
come  among  them.  All  the  horses  followed,  neigh- 
ing their  fright,  some  pulling  buggies  and  some 
wagons ;  some  with  harness  on,  some  with  saddles, 
and  as  they  all  went  up  the  street  together,  every 
horse  and  mule  on  both  sides  of  the  street  broke 
away  and  joined  in  the  procession. 

Many  of  the  animals  did  not  know  what  it  was 
all  about.  But  it  is  a  fact  that  if  one  runaway 
starts  down  a  street,  all  the  other  horses  and  mules 
will  run  with  him.     They  believe  in  safety  first. 

Two  blocks  away  there  was  a  herd  of  cattle 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  street  being  sold  at 
auction.  They  saw  the  cyclone  coming  and  fled 
before  it.  A  block  farther  up  the  street  a  flock  of 
terrified  sheep  saw  the  cattle  coming,  and  started 
out  ahead  of  the  cows.  A  block  farther  on  a  drove 
of  hogs  saw  the  sheep  coming,  and  they  also  be- 
lieved in  safety  first,  and  decided  to  get  there  first, 
so  they  led  the  procession. 

As  the  grunting,  bleating,  bellowing,  braying, 
nickering  procession  of  animals  swept  forward,  all 
the  country  dogs  which  had  followed  their  masters 
into  town  from  every  point  of  the  compass  fell  in 
behind  and  became  a  mighty  chorus  of  yelping, 
barking  canines,  and  their  number  was  augmented 
and  their  chorus  strengthened  by  all  the  dogs 
which  Tickfall  could  contribute.  And  all  the  men, 
women,  and  children,  white  and  black,  and  all  the 


io8  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

shades  of  color  between,  swept  out  of  the  stores 
and  offices  and  shops  to  see  what  the  disturbance 
was  about,  and  these  fell  in  behind  and  added  their 
multitudinous  shoutings  to  the  noise  and  excite- 
ment which  was  like  the  ululation  of  wind  and 
wave  during  a  great  storm  at  sea. 

In  an  incredible  time  the  principal  street  of 
Tickfall  was  swept  clean  of  all  its  live  stock  and  of 
all  its  men,  but  it  was  littered  everywhere  with 
pieces  of  broken  buggies,  broken  wagons,  broken 
harness,  and  a  dust-cloud  was  settling  upon  that 
vacated  street  as  if  Mother  Nature  was  trying  to 
bury  what  was  left  out  of  her  sight. 

Now  for  the  luck  which  attends  the  escapades 
of  youth:  every  person  on  the  street  had  looked 
toward  the  teams  which  were  running  away,  and 
not  back  at  what  had  originally  caused  their  flight. 
Those  boys  had  careened  over  the  court-house  yard, 
had  come  to  smash  in  the  middle  of  the  hitching- 
lot,  and  had  got  up  and  gone  away  from  there 
without  being  seen  by  a  single  person  who  identi- 
fied them  as  the  source  of  all  the  trouble.  As  for 
Colonel  Gaitskill's  buggy,  he  never  missed  it,  and 
if  he  had,  he  could  never  have  identified  it  among 
the  smashed  and  broken  vehicles  that  were  junked 
in  the  hitching-lot  after  the  animals  broke  loose. 

The  farmers  knew  that  if  one  mule  runs  away 
every  other  mule  follows;  so  the  poor  mule  who 
first  saw  the  buggy  and  uttered  his  frightened  bawl 
was  blamed  for  the  whole  catastrophe ! 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  109 

As  for  Skeeter  Butts  and  Dazzle  Zenor,  they 
were  about  two  blocks  from  the  court-house  when 
they  heard  that  first  terrified  bray  behind  them. 
In  a  moment  the  braying  and  bawling  and  bleat- 
ing and  squealing  and  barking  and  yelling  in- 
creased greatly. 

We  have  the  best  authority  for  the  statement 
that  the  wicked  fiee  where  no  man  pursueth. 

Skeeter  and  Dazzle  decided  that  all  the  inhabi- 
tants of  Tickfall  were  after  them  for  the  theft  of 
the  rabbit-foot ! 

Skeeter  took  one  look  behind  him  at  that  cloud 
of  dust,  caught  hold  of  his  spark  lever  and  pulled 
it  down  to  the  last  notch,  then  slowly  opened  his 
throttle  until  it  could  go  no  farther.  The  speed 
of  his  flight  broke  all  records  in  Louisiana  for  his 
make  of  automobile. 

His  eyes  were  upon  the  road  just  as  far  ahead 
of  him  as  he  could  see,  for  he  knew  that  going  at 
his  present  speed  it  would  take  a  long  time  to  stop. 
In  less  than  a  minute  he  was  drawing  near  to  the 
bridge  over  the  little  branch  where  Org  and  Little 
Bit  had  played  with  the  "cannon"  a  short  time 
before  to  the  complete  wreckage  of  that  frail 
structure.  Skeeter  knew  this  bridge  was  too  nar- 
row for  him  to  cross  at  his  present  rate  of  progress, 
and  he  began  to  slow  up. 

Suddenly  Dazzle  uttered  a  terrified  shriek  and 
pointed  ahead — the  bridge  was  gone ! 

Skeeter  shut  off  all  the  power,  pressed  with  all 


no  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

his  strength  upon  the  foot-brake,  set  his  emergency- 
brake  with  all  the  muscle  in  his  arm,  came  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  branch,  going  no  faster  than  a  boy 
could  push  a  wheelbarrow,  and — rolled  in ! 

Dazzle  Zenor  foresaw  what  would  happen  and 
jumped  out.  But  Skeeter  was  behind  the  wheel  and 
could  not  move  quick  enough,  and  he  went  down 
ten  feet  into  the  creek  with  his  little  machine. 

There  was  the  crack  of  a  broken  spring,  the  ex- 
plosion of  two  blown-out  tires,  the  rending,  grind- 
ing noise  of  torn  fenders,  and  the  terrified  wailing 
of  a  little  barkeeper  who  had  been  bounced  out 
into  the  creek  and  who  had  his  clothes  wet  and  his 
feelings  hurt  and  nothing  else ! 

And  even  that  wailing  ceased  when  Skeeter 
heard  what  was  coming.  Dazzle  saw  it  coming 
first.  She  could  not  get  off  the  road  because  of 
a  barbed-wire  fence  on  each  side,  so  she  hopped 
down  into  the  water  of  the  branch  beside  Skeeter. 
And  there,  crouched  beside  the  bank  of  the  creek, 
they  saw  the  strangest  sight  two  people  ever 
witnessed. 

First,  a  herd  of  hogs  came  squealing  to  the 
broken  bridge,  looked  down  at  them,  uttered  a  sur- 
prised series  of  grunts,  split  into  two  parties  and 
ran  down  into  the  creek  and  over  into  the  woods. 
Next  followed  a  flock  of  bleating  sheep,  and  they 
took  a  look  at  Skeeter  and  Dazzle,  split  into  two 
like  the  pigs  had  done,  some  going  down  on  one 
side,  some  on  the  other,  and  all  of  them  scattering 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  m 

in  the  woods.  Then  followed  a  herd  of  cattle, 
then  a  lot  of  mules  and  horses,  then  a  great  multi- 
tude of  dogs,  then  excited  men  in  automobiles, 
then  men,  women,  and  children  afoot! 

All  of  them  without  exception  came  to  the  very 
edge  of  the  branch  where  the  bridge  was  broken, 
looked  down  at  Skeeter  and  Dazzle,  expressed  sur- 
prise either  by  grunt  or  squeal  or  bellow  or  bray  or 
neigh  or  yell  or  laugh — then  turned  to  one  side  and 
went  down  into  the  branch  and  into  the  woods ! 

By  the  time  this  unique  procession  had  arrived 
at  one  end  of  the  broken  bridge,  a  farm-wagon 
drove  up  and  stopped  at  the  other  end.  The 
wagon  contained  Mustard  and  Hopey  Prophet 
and  Popsy  Spout  on  their  way  to  town  from  the 
Nigger-Heel  plantation.     Popsy  was  asleep. 

About  seven  hundred  people  had  assembled  at 
that  spot,  and  nearly  all  the  live  stock  in  the  Parish 
was  out  in  the  woods ! 

To  Skeeter's  unbounded  amazement  he  found 
himself  a  wounded  hero  instead  of  a  criminal  and 
a  captured  fugitive. 

"Did  the  stock  run  you  down  on  the  bridge, 
Skeeter?"  Sheriff  Flournoy  asked;  and  that  gave 
Skeeter  his  cue. 

"Yes,  suh.  De  bridge  is  been  pretty  rickety  a 
long  time,  an'  dem  animiles  piled  up  all  aroun'  me 
an'  we  jes'  nachelly  all  went  down." 

"If  you  want  to  bring  suit  against  this  Parish 
for  injuries  to  yourself  and  damage  to  your  auto- 


112  The  Left  Hind  Foot  ^ 

mobile,  111  help  you,"  Colonel  Gaitskill  snapped. 
"I've  been  telling  that  road  commissioner  to 
repair  this  bridge  for  the  last  three  years,  and  now 
he'll  get  what  is  coming  to  him,  and  we'll  make  him 
pay  for  his  neglect  of  duty." 

That  word  ** damages"  sounded  good  toSkeeter. 

"I's  pretty  bad  hurt,  Marse  Tom,"  he  sighed, 
when  he  saw  a  chance  to  collect  money  for  his  in- 
juries. "Bofe  ankles  is  spraint  an'  my  back  is 
busted,  an'  my  neck  feels  kinder  stretched  and 
loose,  n*  my  head " 

"Tell  all  that  to  the  trial  jury,"  Gaitskill 
snapped.  "You  can  ride  back  in  the  wagon  with 
Mustard  Prophet — I  think  you  had  better  go  on 
right  now!" 

Mustard  drove  down  into  the  woods  and,  cross- 
ing the  branch,  came  up  on  the  other  side  of  the 
broken  bridge  to  the  road.  It  took  four  men  to 
help  Skeeter  in  the  wagon,  so  great  were  his  in- 
juries after  he  heard  that  magic  word — damages ! 

The  first  place  they  passed  on  the  way  back  was 
the  Shin  Bone  eating-house.  Skeeter  decided  that 
this  was  a  good  place  to  demonstrate  how  badly 
hurt  he  was,  and  he  could  exhibit  his  disability  in 
the  presence  of  many  witnesses. 

"I  cain't  trabbel  a  inch  furder,  brudders,"  he 
sighed.  "  I's  gittin'  weaker  an'  weaker  all  de  time. 
You  better  drap  me  off  here  at  de  resteraw." 

So  Mustard  picked  him  up  from  the  bed  of  the 
wagon,  carried  him  bodily  into  the  eating-house 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  113 

and  laid  him  out  on  one  of  the  dining- tables. 
Dazzle  and  Hopey  and  Popsy  Spout  followed  them 
in,  and  Shin  Bone  hurried  to  see  what  the  trouble 
was. 

''I  think  I's  fixin'  to  die,  Mustard,"  Skeeter 
wailed,  thrusting  his  yellow  hand  into  the  inside 
pocket  of  his  coat.  "So  I  passes  dis  little  thing 
over  to  you  befo'  I  j'ines  de  angel  band  dat  toots  de 
horns  aroun'  de  golden  throne." 

The  little  thing  was  a  green-plush  box  contain- 
ing a  rabbit-foot. 

"Dat  reminds  my  mind,  Mustard,"  Shin  Bone 
exclaimed,  as  he  beheld  the  box.  "I  got  somepin 
dat  b'longs  to  you,  too." 

He  went  to  his  cash-drawer,  opened  it,  and  in  an 
apartment  underneath  he  brought  out  his  treasure 
and  handed  it  to  Mustard. 

It  was  a  green-plush  box  containing  a  rabbit- 
foot. 

Skeeter's  eyes  nearly  popped  out  of  his  head. 
As  for  Mustard,  he  was  so  completely  dumfounded 
that  he  merely  stared  at  the  two  green-plush  boxes 
in  helpless  wonder. 

"Whar  did  you  git  dis  green- plush  box,  Skeeter?" 
Mustard  asked  at  last. 

"Ask  Dazzle,"  Skeeter  wailed.  "She  knows — 
you  know,  too." 

"  Whar  you  git  yo*  green-plush  box,  Shin  ? "  Mus- 
tard asked  next,  in  a  tone  of  superstitious  con- 
sternation. 

8 


"4  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

"About  three  weeks  ago,  ole  Popsy  Spout  went 
out  to  yo'  house  to  spend  de  day.  When  he  got 
back,  he  come  in  here  an'  et,  an'  he  lef '  dis  green 
box  on  de  eatin'  table.  He  explavicated  about  it 
a  little  bit  an'  said  it  b'longed  to  you!" 

Mustard  turned  around  with  the  righteous  fury 
of  Michel  the  archangel  contending  with  the  devil 
to  "bring  against  him  a  railing  accusation" — but, 
alas,  Popsy  had  taken  a  hint  from  Skeeter's  recum- 
bent attitude,  and  was  stretched  out  upon  a  dining- 
table  sound  asleep. 

The  unexpected  duplication  of  the  rabbit-feet 
and  the  two  boxes  had  the  effect  of  relieving 
Skeeter's  pretended  injuries  to  the  extent  that  he 
was  able  to  travel  a  little  farther. 

*  *  Take  me  home.  Mustard, ' '  he  wailed.  *  *  Lem- 
me  die  at  home  in  my  own  little  cabin  whut  Marse 
John  gib  to  me." 

Mustard  quickly  understood  that  what  Skeeter 
really  wanted  was  to  get  to  some  place  where  he 
could  talk  about  the  new  complication  in  the  mat- 
ter of  luck  charms.  He  lifted  Skeeter  in  his  arms 
and  carried  him  back  to  the  wagon,  leaving  Popsy 
asleep  upon  the  table,  and  leaving  Dazzle  and 
Hopey  to  find  their  own  conveyance  to  their  house 
in  their  own  feet. 

When  Mustard  and  Skeeter  had  closed  the  door 
upon  their  conference  in  Skeeter's  cabin,  Mustard 
laid  the  rabbit-foot  on  Skeeter's  knee. 

"You  got  to  take  it  back,  brudder,"  he  said 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  115 

earnestly.  *  *  'Twon't  do  f  er  us  folks  to  steal  Marse 
Tom's  rabbit-foot.     Us  is  got  to  ack  hones'." 

''Mebbe  so,"  Skeeter  said  doubtfully.  ''But 
fur's  I'm  concerned,  Marse  Tom  kin  hop  along 
widout  dis  foot." 

"It  cain't  be  did,  Skeeter.  You  got  to  take  it 
back." 

"I  done  been  hurt  in  a  automobile  bust-up," 
Skeeter  protested.  ' '  I  ain't  able  to  git  about.  De 
dorctor  will  come  here  in  a  little  while  an'  examin- 
ate  me  fer  cote-house  damages  on  account  my 
many  injuries." 

"I  makes  dis  trade  wid  you,"  Mustard  replied. 
"  You's  got  fifty  dollars  of  my  money  dat  you  ain't 
earnt  because  you  didn't  recover  my  lucky  foot. 
I'll  gib  you  dat  fifty  to  tote  dis  foot  back." 

"I  got  you,"  Skeeter  answered  promptly. 
"When  do  I  tote  her  back?" 

*  *  To-morrer  night, ' '  Mustard  told  him.  '  *  Marse 
Tom  is  gibin'  a  big  dinner  at  his  house  an'  you  kin 
slip  in  de  house  while  dey  is  eatin'." 

"I'll  do  it,"  Skeeter  promised.  "But  dis  is  de 
last  thing  I's  gwine  do  fer  you  as  long  as  I  live.  No 
more  detecative  stealin'  jobs  fer  me!" 

XVII 

LUCK  AND   LOVE 

The  next  day,  being  Sunday  and  a  dull  day, 
Skeeter  found  it  both  convenient  and  comfortable 


1 16  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

to  remain  in  bed  and  pretend  to  be  severely  in- 
jured by  his  automobile  accident.  He  planned  to 
spend  the  day  in  bed,  and  slip  out  at  night  and 
carry  the  rabbit-foot  back  to  the  dresser-drawer  in 
Miss  Virginia's  room. 

But  about  ten  o'clock  the  road  commissioner 
called  upon  Skeeter,  expressed  his  great  regret  at 
the  automobile  accident  and  told  Skeeter  he  had 
come  to  settle  for  the  damage  that  had  been  done. 

' '  I  don't  want  any  lawsuit,  Skeeter.  It  takes  a 
lot  of  time,  and  it  takes  a  lot  of  money  which  has 
to  be  paid  to  the  lawyers  and  the  courts.  We'll 
fix  this  up  between  ourselves." 

*'Dat  suits  me,"  Skeeter  told  him. 

**I'll  have  your  automobile  repaired,  put  in  per- 
fect condition,  painted  and  polished  and  fixed  like 
new.  Besides  that  I'll  give  you  one  hundred 
dollars." 

With  these  words,  he  laid  the  money  out  on  his 
knee,  one  hundred  dollars  in  one-dollar  bills. 

Skeeter  sat  up,  reached  for  the  money,  and 
thrust  it  under  his  pillow  on  the  bed. 

"Whar  do  I  sign?"  he  grinned. 

The  smiling  commissioner  indicated  the  dotted 
line,  Skeeter  inscribed  his  name  with  a  flourish, 
and  before  that  gentleman  was  out  of  the  yard 
Skeeter  was  kicking  off  the  bed  covers,  preparing 
to  dress  and  go  out. 

**Dis  here  is  my  lucky  day,"  he  announced  to 
lus  immortal  soul. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  117 

About  this  time,  Orren  Randolph  Gaitskill, 
returning  from  Sunday-school,  met  Little  Bit  who 
had  been  waiting  for  him  at  the  corner  for  an  hour. 
The  two  boys  played  around  che  streets  for  a 
while,  then  wandered  aimlessly  down  the  alley 
and  into  a  vacant  place  in  the  rear  of  the  Gaitskill 
store.  There  they  found  something  which  in- 
terested them  very  much. 

It  was  a  discarded  advertisement. 

A  piece  of  cardboard,  life-size,  represented  a 
big,  grinning  negro  man.  Both  arms  were  folded 
across  his  chest  and  he  was  hugging  a  brand  of 
cured  meat  called  the  Hallelujah  Ham  to  his  bosom 
while  his  great  mouth  was  wide-spread  in  a  tooth- 
some grin  of  anticipation  over  its  sugar-cured 
sweetness.  Having  served  its  purpose,  this  card- 
board man  had  been  tossed  upon  the  trash  heap  to 
be  carted  away.  Org  and  Little  Bit  beat  the 
trash  man  to  it  and  regarded  it  as  a  great  posses- 
sion. 

They  carried  the  thing  to  the  corner  of  the  street 
and  set  it  up  in  the  middle  of  the  alley. 

A  negro  woman  passed,  humming  a  tune.  When 
she  saw  the  big  negro,  she  jumped  to  one  side  with 
loud  bawl : 

*  *  My  Gawd !    Who  you  tryin'  to  skeer  ? ' ' 

When  she  saw  it  was  merely  a  cardboard  stand- 
ing up,  she  went  laughing  down  the  street. 

**This  is  our  lucky  day,  Little  Bit,"  Org 
chuckled.     "We  can  have  a  heap  of  fun  with  this 


"8  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

thing.  There  is  plenty  of  fun  scaring  people  if 
they  don't  get  mad  and  fight  you  afterwards." 

"Niggers  don't  fight  when  dey  is  skeart,"  Little 
Bit  said.     '* Dey  runs." 

"But  we  can't  play  with  this  to-day,"  Org  said 
virtuously,  recalling  his  recent  Sunday-school  in- 
structions. "This  is  the  Sabbath  of  the  Lord  and 
this  big  negro  man  ought  to  rest  on  this  day.  We'll 
take  him  up  to  my  house  and  lay  him  down  in  the 
stable  so  he  can  rest." 

"Restin'  time  an'  Sonday  shore  sounds  good  to 
a  nigger,"  Little  Bit  giggled  "Even  dis  here 
paper  pasteboard  man  is  a-grinnin'." 

But  this  was  not  a  day  of  rest  at  the  Gaitskill 
home.  They  were  arranging  to  give  a  great  dinner 
that  evening  at  which  would  be  announced  the 
engagement  of  Miss  Virginia  Gaitskill  and  Cap- 
tain Kerley  Kerlerac. 

All  day  long  Hopey  Prophet,  famous  cook,  was 
preparing  that  dinner,  Dazzle  Zenor  was  helping 
in  the  kitchen.  Mustard  Prophet  was  errand  boy, 
Skeeter  Butts  was  slipping  in  and  out  of  Hopey's 
cabin  in  the  yard,  seizing  such  opportunities  as  he 
could  find  to  discuss  with  Mustard  the  return  of 
the  rabbit-foot. 

Org  was  called  in  and  impressively  informed 
that  his  beautiful  sister  was  engaged  to  Captain 
Kerlerac  and  the  announcement  would  be  made 
that  evening;  that  he  would  not  be  permitted  to 
be  at  the  dinner  because  he  had  to  be  corrected 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  119 

seventeen  times  at  an  ordinary  meal,  and  this 
occasion  was  so  extraordinary  that  he  was  elimi- 
nated. 

"I  don't  care— I'm  glad  I'm  out  of  it,"  Org 
growled.  "Gince  didn't  ask  me  nothing  about 
her  business  and  I'm  not  going  to  help  her  through. 
Let  old  Gince  go  and  get  herself  engaged.  Little 
Bit  says  that  Cap'n  Kerley  is  a  easy  boss." 

"What  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  be  a  good  boy  all 
day  and  stay  around  the  house,"  Mrs.  Gaitskill 
requested. 

"I'll  promise  not  to  leave  this  place  all  day,"  Org 
said.     "There's  nothin'  doing  on  Sunday  nohow." 

"Thank  you,"  Mrs.  Gaitskill  said,  much  relieved 
by  the  promise.  "If  you  are  very  good,  I'll 
promise  to  do  something  very  nice  for  you." 

* '  Will  you  lemme  have  a  party  and  invite  Little 
Bit?"  Org  asked. 

"Oh,  dear!  I  can't  promise  what  I  will  do  just 
now,"  Mrs.  Gaitskill  smiled. 

"Say!"  Org  exclaimed,  struck  by  a  sudden 
thought.  "Don't  I  get  anything  to  eat  out  of 
this?" 

"Certainly.  But  you'll  have  to  wait  until  the 
others  have  eaten." 

"Is  Little  Bit  in  on  the  eats,  too?" 

"Yes." 

"We'll  be  good,"  Org  announced. 

And  he  kept  his  promise.  He  and  Little  Bit 
played  in  the  stable  all  day  long.     About  dark  it 


120  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

pleased  his  fancy  to  carry  his  cardboard  negro  man 
to  the  house  where  there  could  be  no  danger  of  any- 
one stealing  it.  At  first  he  thought  he  would  take 
it  up  to  his  own  room,  then  he  decided  to  store  it  in 
a  room  which  Colonel  Gaitskill  called  his  ''office,** 
for  he  knew  that  no  one  would  enter  that  room 
that  night. 

The  Gaitskill  home  was  arranged  in  this  fashion : 
Entering  the  front  door  a  guest  stepped  into  the 
reception  room  in  the  rear  of  which  was  a  stair- 
case leading  to  the  bedrooms  above.  On  the  left 
of  the  reception  room  was  the  dining-room,  behind 
that  the  butler's  pantry  and  the  kitchen.  In  the 
rear  of  the  staircase  was  a  back  hall  with  a  flight 
of  back  stairs  leading  to  the  bed-rooms  above. 
On  the  right  of  the  reception  room  was  the  draw- 
ing-room, and  in  the  rear  of  that,  entered  by 
folding  doors,  was  what  Mrs.  Gaitskill  called 
a  library,  and  Miss  Virginia  called  a  den,  and 
Colonel  Gaitskill  called  his  office. 

In  this  ''office"  Org  set  up  his  cardboard  man, 
knowing  that  Gaitskill  never  entered  this  room  on 
Sunday,  and  that  no  guest  would  be  admitted  to 
it  that  night. 

As  Org  came  out  of  the  room,  he  was  captured 
by  Dazzle  Zenor,  who  conducted  him  to  his  room, 
ordered  him  to  bathe,  and  superintended  his  dress- 
ing. Then  she  dismissed  him  with  instructions 
not  to  leave  the  house  and  hastened  to  assist  Miss 
Virginia  with  her  toilet. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  121 

Orren  sneaked  down  to  the  dining-room  and 
gazed  with  awe  at  the  wonderfully  picturesque 
table;  boylike,  he  began  to  seek  what  he  might 
devour.  There  was  nothing  good  to  eat  on  the 
table  yet,  nothing  on  the  sideboard.  He  pulled 
open  a  door  in  the  sideboard,  and  found  far  back 
a  cut-glass  dish  full  of  candies. 

' '  Oo-oo ! "  he  exclaimed.  ' '  Candy  mints !  They 
put  'em  way  back  here  to  hide  'em from  me!"  and 
he  filled  his  pockets. 

Then  he  smuggled  Little  Bit  up-stairs  to  his 
room  to  keep  him  company,  and  showed  him  the 
candy  mints. 

''Dat  looks  good  to  me,"  the  little  negro  said. 

**I  bet  it'll  make  our  mouths  run  water  to  eat 
*em.  When  eatin'  time  comes,  us  is  gwine  ex- 
pe'unce  joy." 

''We'll  lay  'em  on  this  table  till  everybody  goes 
to  eating  down-stairs,"  Org  said. 

There  were  some  Tickfall  notables  at  that 
dinner. 

There  was  Dr.  Sentelle,  clergyman,  a  hang-over 
from  Civil  War  times,  an  unreconstructed  rebel,  a 
cripple  since  Antietam,  whose  voice  was  music, 
whose  speech  was  eloquence,  and  every  word  a 
caress;  whose  face  was  beautiful,  written  all  over 
with  the  literature  of  experience.  There  was  John 
Flournoy,  who  had  served  forty  years  as  sherifiE 
of  the  Parish,  a  man  with  the  physical  frame  of  an 
ox,  the  strength  of  Samson,  a  mouth  like  a  bear 


122  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

trap,  and  the  gentle  heart  of  a  woman — the  Httle 
children  followed  him  on  the  streets.  There  was 
Judge  Haddan,  a  pale,  sickly  man  with  a  weak 
voice,  trembling  hands,  and  the  stooped  shoulders 
of  the  student ;  but  his  head  was  massive  and  Web- 
sterian,  his  eyes  glowed  like  the  eyes  of  some  jungle 
beast,  and  no  man  within  the  borders  of  the  State 
commanded  more  respect  as  a  lawyer  and  a  jurist. 
There  was  Colonel  Gaitskill,  the  host,  serene, 
powerful,  with  his  snow-white  beard  and  hair,  his 
face  glowing  like  an  alabaster  vase  with  a  lamp  in 
it,  such  a  man  as  one  beholds  once  in  a  lifetime 
and  remembers  forever.  And  around  these  a  bevy 
of  women  and  girls  who  had  known  these  men 
since  their  babyhood. 

And  there  was  the  girl  of  the  evening,  Miss 
Virginia  Harwick  Gaitskill,  descendant  of  a  long 
line  of  beautiful  women  and  handsome  men,  her 
skin  like  the  faint  iridescence  of  pearls,  her  eyes 
like  cornflower  sapphires,  her  hair  like  cobweb, 
thick  and  wavy,  colored  like  the  heart  of  a  ripe 
chestnut  burr,  her  whole  face  like  pearl  and  pome- 
granate and  peachbloom,  with  the  amber  nimbus 
above  it  always  from  that  soft  brown  hair,  her 
laughter  light  and  happy  like  a  Sicilian  shepherd's 
reed,  and  her  heart  like  oil  on  salt  sea-water — all 
the  beauties  of  the  world  moving,  circling,  advanc- 
ing, retreating,  but  smoothing  out  all  ruffled  sur- 
faces and  stilling  the  storm ! 

And  Captain  Kerley  Kerlerac,  such  a  man  as 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  123 

every  mother  wants  her  son  to  be  that  he  might 
fill  her  heart  and  satisfy  her  love  completely — but 
it  is  customary  to  ignore  the  man  in  a  case  like 
this,  or  dismiss  him  with  faint  praise. 

The  dinner  was  about  half  finished  when  Little 
Bit,  in  Orren's  room  up-stairs,  looked  longingly 
at  the  candy  mints  upon  the  little  table  and  re- 
marked : 

**A11  dem  eaters  down  dar  makes  me  feel 
hongry." 

'*Me,  too.  Less  eat  our  candy  mints,"  Org 
suggested. 

"I'll  bet  dey'll  make  my  mouf  water  when  I  gits 
'em  inside,"  Little  Bit  chuckled.  "My  mouf  is 
been  waterin'  jes'  to  look  at  *em." 

Indeed,  they  did  make  his  mouth  water. 

These  candy  mints  were  not  what  Orren  Ran- 
dolph Gaitskill  thought  they  were.  They  were 
shaped  like  candy  mints,  but  they  contained  no 
candy  and  no  mint;  they  were  little  wafers,  which 
dropped  in  water  in  the  finger-bowls,  would  effer- 
vesce, causing  the  water  to  bubble  and  sparkle 
and  look  pretty. 

Both  boys  grabbed  a  handful  of  these  things 
and  poured  them  in  their  mouths. 

They  tasted  sweet.  The  saliva  moistened  them, 
and  suddenly  one  of  them  exploded  in  each  mouth. 
It  was  a  very  slight  explosion,  just  enough  to 
cause  all  the  tablets  to  crumble  into  tiny  pieces 
and  get  under  their  tongues  and  between  their 


124  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

teeth,  and  fill  the  entire  cavity  of  the  mouth  like 
an  expanding  balloon. 

When  the  explosion  occurred  in  Little  Bit's 
mouth,  that  little  darky  felt  like  the  whole  top  of 
his  head  had  been  blown  off,  and  he  opened  his 
mouth  and  uttered  a  startled  bellow. 

Then  in  both  mouths,  each  little  globule  began 
to  explode  as  the  moisture  penetrated  it.  Half  a 
dozen  popped  under  each  tongue,  several  cracked 
between  the  teeth  of  the  boys,  and  the  vibration 
of  "the  nerves  of  the  teeth  made  them  feel  as  if  there 
was  a  sound  like  a  pistol  shot  at  each  tiny  explo- 
sion. 

*  *  Poison ! ' '  Org  gurgled . 

*T'ison!"  Little  Bit  seconded. 

The  two  boys  decided  that  they  needed  expert 
medical  attention  at  once.  Dr.  Moseley  was 
down  in  the  dining-room.  They  would  not  wait 
for  him  to  come  up ;  they  would  go  down  to  him ! 
They  ran  down  the  hall  and  galloped  down  the 
back  steps,  their  feet  making  as  much  racket  as  a 
pair  of  mules  crossing  the  gangplank  of  a  steam- 
boat. They  burst  into  the  dining-room,  foaming 
at  the  mouth,  their  frothy  tongues  protruding, 
gargling  their  words  as  they  tried  to  speak.  Little 
Bit,  his  coal-black  face  smeared  with  foamy  white 
bubbles,  looked  like  he  had  swallowed  the  handle  of 
a  shaving  brush  and  left  the  soapy  end  sticking 
out! 

"I'm  poisoned ! ' '  Org  gargled. 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  125 

'*My  Gawd!  I'm  p'isoned!"  Little  Bit  squalled. 

Simultaneously  with  the  startling  advent  of  the 
children  in  the  dining-room,  there  came  a  scream, 
so  shrill,  so  terror-fraught,  so  penetrating,  that  all 
the  guests  sprang  to  their  feet  in  consternation. 

From  the  kitchen,  Dazzle  Zenor's  voice  sounded 
like  a  steam  whistle : 

"Oh,  my  Gawd!  A  alligator  is  tryin'  to  git  in 
dis  kitchen!" 

Almost  instantly  in  the  reception-room  there 
was  a  sound  like  the  delivery  of  a  ton  of  coal 

Skeeter  Butts  had  fallen  down-stairs ! 

Hopey  Prophet,  hearing  all  the  commotion, 
started  from  the  pantry  to  see  what  it  was  about; 
glancing  across  the  back  hall  into  Colonel  Tom 
Gaitskill's  office,  she  beheld  a  strange  negro  man 
with  a  broad  grin  on  his  black  face,  hugging  a 
Hallelujah  Ham  to  his  bosom ! 

She  hurled  herself  into  the  dining-room  among 
the  astounded  guests,  her  fat  arms  stretched  up 
toward  the  ceiling,  her  dough-like  face  ashen  with 
fright  as  she  bawled  at  the  top  of  her  voice : 

"Fer  Gade  'Imighty's  sake,  white  folks!  Bar's 
a  big  nigger  man  in  Marse  Tom's  library!" 

When  Mustard  Prophet  heard  Dazzle's  scream 
of  fright,  he  rushed  from  a  little  side  porch  where 
he  was  waiting  to  serve  the  cream  when  they  were 
ready,  taking  a  pistol  from  his  pocket  as  he  ran. 
There  had  been  no  doubt  in  Mustard's  mind  that 
he  had  really  seen  an  alligator  in  the  orchard  the 


126  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

day  before  and  he  had  armed  himself  for  protec- 
tion in  case  he  saw  it  again. 

But  before  Mustard  got  to  the  kitchen,  he  heard 
the  sound  made  by  Skeeter  Butts  in  his  tumble 
down  the  front  stairs,  so  he  changed  his  course  and 
started  in  that  direction. 

Just  as  Mustard  arrived  in  the  reception  room, 
he  heard  Hopey's  wild  whoop  and  her  statement 
that  a  strange  negro  was  in  the  library.  So  Mus- 
tard ran  across  the  drawing-room  floor,  pushed 
open  the  folding  doors  and  entered  the  library, 
knocking  over  in  his  haste  a  cardboard  representa- 
tion of  a  negro  man  who  stood  holding  a  Hallelujah 
Ham  to  his  bosom.  Approaching  from  the  rear 
of  this  figure.  Mustard  could  not  see  what  it 
was.  It  fell  face  downward  and  nobody  recog- 
nized it. 

Captain  Kerley  Kerlerac  hastily  excused  him- 
self from  the  table,  stepped  into  the  back  hall  on 
his  way  to  the  library.  Looking  about  for  a  suit- 
able weapon,  he  laid  hold  upon  Orren's  baseball 
bat  standing  in  the  corner. 

He  entered  the  library  through  one  door  just  as 
Mustard  entered  it  through  the  other.  Kerlerac 
closed  his  door  behind  him,  thus  shutting  out  the 
light  from  the  little  back  hall  by  which  Hopey  had 
been  able  to  see  the  cardboard  figure,  and  which 
would  have  shown  Kerlerac  that  the  negro  was 
Mustard  whom  he  confronted.  But  Kerlerac 
was  in  the  dark,  and  Mustard  had  the  light  from 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  127 

the  drawing-room  behind  him.  What  Kerlerac 
saw  was  a  big  negro  with  a  big  pistol  in  his  hand. 

The  battle  began  at  once ! 

Mustard  shot  ten  times  at  Captain  Kerlerac, 
the  bullets  flying  in  every  direction.  Three  of 
them  entered  the  dining-room  among  the  guests, 
having  no  effect  except  to  splash  the  diners  out 
of  that  room,  like  a  brick  splashes  water  when 
dropped  into  a  puddle  of  mud ! 

The  last  bullet  in  Mustard's  pistol  skimmed 
along  the  cheek  of  Kerlerac,  making  a  long,  pain- 
ful cut,  just  under  the  lobe  of  his  ear,  adding  one 
more  bullet  wound  to  the  two  he  had  previously 
received  when  he  was  fighting  for  Uncle  Sam  in 
the  world  war. 

Then  the  captain's  baseball  bat  landed  on  the 
top  of  Mustard's  head  and  Mustard  sank  to  the 
floor  unconscious. 

Kerlerac  walked  over  with  the  intention  of 
pounding  the  negro's  head  to  a  jelly,  but  just 
then 

From  a  little  house  in  the  yard  by  the  side  of  the 
residence,  there  sounded  the  thrilling  scream  of 
Miss  Virginia  Gaitskill.  The  woman  he  loved! 
A  moment  later  she  began  to  shriek,  and  in  her 
tones  were  all  the  concentrated  essence  of  ago- 
nized terror! 

Miss  Virginia,  in  her  effort  to  escape  from  the 
flying  bullets,  had  run  out  of  the  house  through 
the  kitchen.    As  she  rushed  out  of  the  door  into 


128  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

the  yard,  the  light  from  the  door  shone  full  into 
the  eyes  of  a  six-foot  alligator.  He  opened  his 
mouth  wide  at  her  approach,  and  when  she 
screamed,  he  snapped  his  jaws  like  a  bear- trap! 

The  shrieking  girl  fled  for  refuge  to  the  store- 
house. 

Alas! 

A  stream  of  sweetness  from  a  barrel  of  ribbon- 
cane  sirup  had  been  running  from  the  spigot  for 
two  days  and  one  night.  Over  the  floor  of  that 
storehouse  was  a  pool  of  molasses  one  inch  deep. 

Virginia  stepped  into  that  mess  and  both  her 
dainty  slippers  stuck!  She  screamed.  She  tried 
to  retreat  and  stepped  out  of  both  her  sHppers, 
and  her  feet  stood  ankle-deep  in  the  molasses. 
Then  came  a  series  of  shrieks  which  were  the  es- 
sence of  agonized  terror ! 

Captain  Kerley  Kerlerac,  leaving  Mustard  un- 
conscious upon  the  floor,  ran  to  the  rescue  of  the 
beauty  in  distress.  Plunging  out  of  the  kitchen 
door,  he  leaped  over  something  which  looked  like 
an  old  mud-caked  log,  and  which  snapped  at  him 
viciously  as  he  passed. 

Failing  to  get  a  bite  of  the  captain's  leg,  the 
alligator  walked  around  to  the  front  of  the  house. 

Kerlerac  hurled  himself  through  the  door  of  the 
storehouse  like  a  catapult. 

Alas  for  the  hero !  Both  feet  landed  in  the  mo- 
lasses, both  feet  slipped  from  under  him,  he  fell 
flat  on  his  back,  rolled  over  and  over  in  the  sweet- 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  129 

ness,  and  stopped  his  progress  only  when  both 
feet  struck  against  the  empty  barrel  from  which 
all  that  saccharine  had  dripped ! 

He  sprang  up,  threw  his  sweet  arms  around  the 
woman  he  loved,  drew  her  close  to  his  sirupy  form, 
laid  his  bleeding  cheek  against  her  amber  hair,  and 
carried  her  forth  to  safety ! 

In  the  meantime,  Skeeter  Butts  was  lying  in 
the  reception  room  under  a  leather  couch,  grasp- 
ing the  green-plush  box  in  his  nervous  hand. 

He  had  started  up-stairs  to  restore  it  to  its 
rightful  owner,  just  as  Org  and  Little  Bit,  think- 
ing they  were  poisoned,  had  run  down  the  hallway 
above  in  their  flight  to  the  dining-room.  Skeeter 
had  turned  his  body  to  retreat,  had  lost  his  bal- 
ance, and  had  fallen  down  the  steps,  taking  refuge 
under  the  leather  couch,  where  he  was  happy  to 
remain  during  the  subsequent  scenes  of  that 
memorable  night. 

When  the  screams  of  Miss  Virginia  Gaitskill 
attracted  all  the  guests  to  the  rear  of  the  house, 
Skeeter  crawled  from  under  the  couch,  crawled 
across  the  reception  room,  slipped  out  of  the  front 
door  and  began  to  crawl  toward  the  gate. 

Someone  in  the  house  turned  the  electric  switch, 
causing  the  globe  light  on  the  front  porch  to  flash 
up.  Skeeter  jumped,  hastily  concealed  himself 
behind  a  bit  of  shrubbery,  and  glancing  around 
him  nervously,  found  himself  squatting  within 
two  feet  of  an  immense  alligator. 
9 


130  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

The  alligator  opened  his  mouth  like  a  door  to 
the  pit  of  the  nether  regions,  and  Skeeter,  with 
that  peculiar  impulse  which  everyone  has  to 
strike,  or  throw  something,  at  a  peril,  hurled  the 
green-plush  box  into  the  alligator's  gaping  mouth ! 

The  jaws  snapped  together  and  the  box  contain- 
ing the  rabbit-foot  was  gone. 

By  that  time  Skeeter  was  gone  too. 

As  soon  as  Mustard  Prophet  was  identified, 
half  a  dozen  armed  men  from  the  dinner  party 
patroled  the  lawn  with  guns  and  flash-lights,  hunt- 
ing for  the  negro  whom  Hopey  had  seen.  The 
alligator,  disturbed  by  the  flash-light,  which 
whipped  across  the  grass,  crawled  under  the  fence 
into  the  horse-pasture,  and  was  there  discovered 
and  killed  by  Sheriff  Flournoy. 

Skeeter  Butts,  who  was  hiding  in  the  bushes 
just  across  the  road,  drew  a  big  sigh  of  relief. 

''Dem  white  mens  is  done  killed  a  alligator 
whut's  got  five  foots  an'  dey  don't  know  it,"  he 
chuckled.  ''One  foot  is  gone  down  de  red  lane 
of  his  gullet  in  a  cute  green  box ! " 

Skeeter  waited  until  the  men  returned  to  the 
house  and  then  moved  away. 

"I  knows  whar  dat  rabbit-foot  is,"  he  muttered. 
''But  I  ain't  gmne  atter  it.  No  Jonah  in  de 
whale  fer  me!" 

Over  in  the  negro  settlement  called  Dirty-Six, 
Skeeter  entered  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon,  saying 
nothing  of  the  exciting  scenes  he  had  witnessed 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  131 

that  night.  But  his  mind  dwelt  upon  them,  as 
evidenced  by  a  song  which  he  sang  again  and 
again : 

*'  Some  folks  do  not  believe 

Dat  a  whale  could  Jonah  receive 

But  dat  don't  make  my  tale  a-tall  untrue. 

Dar  are  whales  on  eve'y  side 

Wid  deir  mouths  open  wide 

An'  you  better  look  out  or  one  will  swallow  you  I" 

XVIII 

THE  KISS 

Ten  days  had  passed. 

At  the  Nigger-Heel  plantation  Mustard  Prophet, 
nursing  a  battered  head,  was  curing  an  alligator 
skin  which  he  had  nailed  upon  a  barn  door,  and 
was  keeping  careful  guard  over  two  green-plush 
boxes,  each  containing  a  rabbit-foot. 

Mustard  entered  the  junk-room  full  of  Marse 
Tom's  curiosities,  opened  a  drawer  in  a  desk,  and 
brought  forth  the  two  luck  charms  which  had 
caused  him  so  much  trouble. 

"It  'pears  to  me  like  dese  here  lef  hind  foots  is 
lost  dere  power,"  he  muttered  to  himself. 

He  held  up  one  box  which  looked  rather  messy, 
because  Mustard  had  rescued  it  from  an  alligator's 
stomach.     He  continued  his  soliloquy : 

**Now  you  take  de  hist'ry  of  dis  here  foot: 


132  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

Cap'n  Kerlerac  gib  dis'n  to  Miss  Virginia  Gaits- 
kill  fifteen  years  ago  when  she  warn't  nothin'  but 
a  little  ole  spindle-leg  gal.  An'  whut  come  to  pass? 
Her  paw  an'  maw  died  in  furin  parts  somewhat  an' 
she  had  to  move  back  to  Tickfall.  Little  Bit  tole 
little  Marse  Org  dat  a  rabbit-foot  fotch  luck,  so 
he  stole  dis'n  out  of  his  sister's  room,  swiped  a  pipe 
an'  smoked  rabbit  terbacker,  an'  mighty  nigh 
died.  When  Skeeter  Butts  tuck  Org  home  an 
seen  dis  rabbit-foot,  he  thought  it  wus  mine  an'  I 
thought  it  wus  mine  because  it  looked  jes'  like 
mine.  So  I  sneaked  up  to  Miss  Virginia's  room 
to  steal  it  back,  an'  I  had  my  hand  on  de  very  place 
whar  it  wus,  when  dat  little  ole  Org  boy  skeart  de 
gizzard  outen  me,  playin'  Indian  an'  whoopin' 
behime  my  back. 

*'An'  Skeeter  swiped  dis  foot  fer  me,  an'  hopped 
in  his  automobile  to  make  his  escapement,  an'  he 
run  off  a  busted  bridge  into  de  Cooley  bayou, 
chased  by  all  de  hawgs  an'  sheeps  an'  cattle  an' 
bosses  an'  mules  an'  dawgs  an'  mens  in  Tickfall. 
Atter  dat,  Skeeter  tried  to  fotch  dis  rabbit-foot 
back  to  Miss  Virginia  because  it  'twarn't  de  one 
we  wanted,  an'  he  had  dis  foot  on  his  own  pusson 
when  he  tuck  dat  hell-bustin'  tumble  down  Marse 
Tom's  steps,  an'  he  had  it  in  his  hand  when  he 
snuck  across  de  yard  an'  dat  alligator  tried  to  eat 
him  up.  Den  Skeeter  throwed  dis  rabbit-foot, 
plush  box  an'  all,  down  dat  alligator's  gullet,  an' 
whut  happened  to  dat  varmint  atter  he  swallowed 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  133 

dis  foot,  an'  had  all  de  luck  inside  his  own  hide? 
He  got  kilt!" 

He  laid  this  unlucky  foot  back  in  the  green- 
plush  box,  placed  it  reverently  in  the  drawer,  shak- 
ing his  head  over  the  mystery  how  a  luck  charm 
could  be  attended  with  so  much  misfortune. 

"Naw,  suh,  dis'n  is  done  lost  de  power,"  he 
announced. 

Then  he  lifted  the  other  green-plush  box,  lifted 
a  rabbit-foot  out  of  it,  and  gazed  with  sacred  awe 
upon  this  talisman. 

"Dis  here  is  Marse  Tom's  left  hind  foot  of  a 
rabbit  kilt  in  a  graveyard  in  de  dark  of  de  moon," 
he  announced.  "But  take  de  secret  myst'ry  of  de 
hist'ry  of  dis  here  foot:  it  wus  in  Marse  Tom's 
own  house  when  all  dat  rousement  touck  place  an' 
busted  up  Miss  Virginia's  party.  An'  I  had  dis 
foot  in  my  own  coat  pocket  on  my  own  pussonal 
self  when  Cap'n  Kerley  busted  my  head  wid  dat 
bat  an'  I  mighty  nigh  shot  his  snout  off  wid  my 
pistol!" 

Mustard  Prophet  reached  up  and  tenderly 
caressed  a  bandage  upon  his  wounded  head. 

"Naw,  suh,"  he  sighed.  " 'Tain't  resomble  to 
me  dat  dis  foot  is  still  got  de  authority.  I'll  keep 
it,  but  I  don't  never  trust  it  no  more.  Mr.  On- 
lucky  Foot,  I  axes  you  good-by!" 

He  solemnly  placed  his  thick  lips  upon  the 
cushiony  bottom  of  the  rabbit's  foot,  and  kissed 
it  farewell. 


134  The  Left  Hind  Foot 

In  Gaitskill's  stable  in  Tickfall,  an  ideal  play- 
house for  two  boys,  Orren  Randolph  Gaitskill  and 
Little  Bit  had  formed  a  joint  ownership  over  eleven 
interesting  objects:  One  baseball  bat  which  had 
** busted  a  nigger's  head,"  and  ten  pistol  bullets 
which  had  been  extracted  from  the  walls  in  the 
Gaitskill  home.  At  frequent  intervals  an  argu- 
ment started  between  them  as  to  which  of  the  ten 
bullets  had  wounded  Captain  Kerley  Kerlerac  in 
the  face. 

''Ef  I  knowed  which  one  it  wus,  I'd  shore  tote 
it  roun'  wid  me  fer  luck,"  Little  Bit  said. 

* '  This  bat  is  a  lucky  bat.  It  blooded  Mustard's 
head.  But  we  can't  carry  it  around  for  luck," 
Org  said. 

"Naw,  suh,  but  we  can  kiss  it  fer  luck,"  Little 
Bit  proclaimed. 

"That's  right,"  Org  said.  "You  kiss  one  end 
and  I'll  kiss  the  other." 

They  solemnly  held  it  up  between  them,  and 
white  lips  and  black  lips  caressed  opposite  ends  of 
the  big  stick. 

In  the  Gaitskill  home.  Captain  Kerley  Kerlerac 
entered  and  asked  for  Virginia.  This  was  his  tenth 
call  since  the  night  of  the  dinner  ten  days  before. 
But  now,  for  the  first  time,  the  bandage  was  re- 
moved from  his  face. 

A  long  red  scar  marked  the  face  from  the  point 
of  the  chin  to  the  lobe  of  the  ear. 

For  the  first  time  Virginia  saw  that  mark  which 


The  Left  Hind  Foot  135 

he  would  carry  to  his  grave.  Kerlerac  noticed 
that  look  of  distress,  but  he  had  a  little  question 
which  he  often  asked,  and  it  always  had  the  effect 
of  diverting  her  mind  from  anything,  however  im- 
portant, to  something  which  was  vastly  more 
important. 

"Do  you  love  me  as  much  as  ever?"  he  asked 
quietly. 

But  the  girl  could  not  take  her  eyes  from  the  long 
red  scar.  Her  chin  quivered  with  emotion  and 
her  lips  drooped  with  the  pain  of  the  thought  of 
that  night  of  comedy  when  he  had  to  suffer  this 
wound. 

"Stoop  over  and  I'll  tell  you,"  she  whispered. 

He  bent  his  head  to  hear  the  whisper  from  her 
fragrant  Hps. 

She  put  both  arms  around  his  neck  and  kissed 
the  scar  upon  his  cheek. 


The  'Fraid  Cat 


"Fs  glad  de  kunnel  an'  ole  miss  is  gone  to 
N'Awleens,"  Hopey  Prophet  remarked  as  she  sank 
her  thickly  upholstered  body  into  a  deeply  up- 
holstered chair  in  the  Gaitskill  drawing-room.  "I 
likes  to  take  a  seat  an*  set  down  in  de  white  folks* 
parlor  an'  ack  white." 

"  If  de  kunnel  knowed  we  wus  settin'  in  dis  bood- 
war,  he'd  bu'st  our  necks,"  Dazzle  Zenor  giggled 
as  she  sat  down  on  the  stool  at  the  grand  piano 
and  ran  der  slim  ebony  fingers  over  the  white  keys. 

"I'll  shore  fergit  to  tell  him  whar  we  spent  our 
time  while  he  wus  gone,"  Hopey  chuckled,  as  she 
raised  herself  from  the  chair  and  waddled  across 
the  room  to  turn  on  all  the  electric  lights.  ' '  Whut 
Marse  Tom  ain't  know  won't  hurt  us." 

"I  needs  a  beau  to  entertain  me  in  dis  nice 
room,"  Dazzle  smiled,  looking  up  at  the  chande- 
lier now  blazing  with  light.  ''All  dis  noble  ar- 
rangement is  wasted  on  me  'thout  no  man  to  see 
me  in  de  middle  of  it." 

"Dat  remark  shows  dat  Skeeter  Butts  is  still 
136 


The  'Fraid  Cat  i37 

pesterin'  yo'  mind,"  Hopey  told  her.  '*Ef  he 
takes  a  notion  to  pay  a  call- visit,  I'll  shore  set 
right  here  an'  chapperoon  him." 

''Us  won't  need  you,"  the  giri  remarked  in  a 
dreamy  tone  as  she  ran  her  fingers  down  the  key- 
board of  the  piano.  ' '  Skeeter  shore  do  look  brave 
in  his  soldier  suit." 

"Brave!"  Hopey  snorted.  "Brave!  Dat 
Skeeter  Butts  is  de  biggest  coward  in  de  Nunited 
States  of  Loozanny!" 

"He  ain't!"  Dazzle  protested. 

"He  am!"  Hopey  insisted,  nodding  her  big 
head  on  her  fat  shoulders.  "Skeeter  ain't  never 
seed  nothin'  in  his  life  dat  he  wusn't  skeart  of. 
He's  a  nachel-bawn  'fraid-cat!" 

* '  I  don' t  b'lieve  dat, ' '  Dazzle  snapped.  ' '  Didn't 
he  go  off  an'  jine  de  army  at  de  fust  offstartin'  of 
de  war?" 

"Suttin  he  did!"  Hopey  chuckled.  "But  how 
come?  Three  nigger  womens  wus  in  dis  town  on 
de  very  same  day ;  each  one  had  a  weddin'  license 
to  marry  Skeeter  Butts — an'  you  wus  one  of  dem 
three  womens !    An'  whut  did  Skeeter  up  an'  do  ? " 

"He  volunteered  to  jine  de  army." 

"Shore!  He  wus  forced  to  volunteer!  Don't 
dat  show  he's  a  coward  an'  a  'fraid-cat?"  Hopey 
howled.  "Why  didn't  he  stay  in  Tickfall  like  a 
brave  man  an'  marry  dem  three  nigger  womens?" 

"He  didn't  run  because  he  wus  skeart,"  Dazzle 
asserted  in  Skeeter's  defense.     "He  jined  de  army 


138  The  'Fraid  Cat 

because  a  lifelong  war  wid  three  nigger  women 
wifes  is  too  much  of  a  muchness  fer  even  a  brave 
soldier  like  Skeeter." 

**I  wish  dat  Mr.  Bill  Kaiser's  war  had  kotch 
him,"  Hopey  growled  disloyally.  *'I  bet  dem 
Hunches  would  'a'  throwed  a  skeer  into  Skeeter  dat 
mought  'a'  skeart  all  de  skeer  out  of  him." 

''Skeeter  wus  a  brave  soldier,"  Dazzle  repeated 
obstinately. 

"Soldier!"  Hopey  repeated  with  a  contemptu- 
ous sniff.  ''Skeeter  wusn't  nothin'  but  a  boot- 
black in  de  army,  totin'  pink  notes  to  de  kunnel 
fer  de  lady  folks." 

"Skeeter  told  me  dat  him  an'  de  military  kunnel 
looked  fer  Mr.  Bill  Kaiser  eve'ywhar,"  Dazzle 
informed  her.  "It  wus  Mr.  Bill  dat  wus  skeart  of 
Skeeter.  He  hid  out,  an'  Skeeter  couldn't  connect 
up  wid  him  or  find  him  nowhars.  Skeeter  is  a 
dangersome  nigger." 

"Skeeter  wus  jes'  tryin*  to  locate  Mr.  Kaiser  so 
he  would  know  whut  place  to  stay  away  from,'* 
Hopey  growled.  "He  imagined  he  warn't  skeart 
of  de  Hunches,  but  he  warn't  aimin'  to  let  de 
Hunches  run  him." 

"'Tain't  so,"  Dazzle  answered  sharply.  "I 
bet  ef  I  wus  in  danger  right  now,  Skeeter  would 
come  up  here  an'  rescue  me." 

"Suttinly,"  Hopey  grumbled.  "Fust-off,  he'd 
break  a  leg  runnin'  up  to  Sheriff  Flournoy's  orfice  to 
git  de  sheriff  to  he'p  him,  because  he  growed  up  in 


The  Traid  Cat  i39 

Marse  John's  house,  an'  he  is  de  sheriff's  little  pet 
nigger.  Next-off,  he'd  git  all  de  white  folks  an' 
niggers  in  town  and  lead  'em  up  on  dis  hill.  Den 
he'd  sneak  aroun'  behime  a  tree  an'  wait  till  de 
rookus  wus  over,  an'  at  de  last  he'd  hop  in  an'  ack 
like  he  done  it  all!" 

Dazzle  was  angry.  She  glared  at  Hopey  with 
fine  rage,  and  tried  to  think  of  something  to  say 
that  would  crush  the  fat  woman  flat.  But  nothing 
but  a  falling  planet  would  ever  flatten  Hopey,  so 
that  young  colored  actress  with  several  histrionic 
manifestations  of  intense  indignation  flounced  out 
of  the  room,  followed  by  the  exasperating  chuckles 
of  the  victorious  Hopey  Prophet. 

In  the  rear  hallway  Dazzle  paused  at  sight  of 
the  telephone.  Her  milk-white  teeth  gnawed  at 
her  lower  lip  as  she  debated  something  in  her 
mind.  Then,  with  an  air  of  decision,  she  sat 
down  at  the  desk  and  lifted  the  receiver  from  the 
hook. 

"Central,  I  wants  to  talk  to  de  Hen-Scratch 
saloon,  please,  ma'am!" 

After  a  moment's  wait  something  popped  in  her 
ear,  and  a  voice  spoke :  ' '  Hello ! ' ' 

"Is  dat  you,  Skeeter  Butts?  Listen!  Dis 
here  am  Dazzle  Zenor.  I's  at  Marse  Tom  Gaits- 
kill's  home  wid  Hopey  Prophet.  Somebody  is 
tryin*  to  bu'st  in  dis  house  an'  rob  it " 

A  squealing  shriek  sounded  so  sharply  in 
Dazzle's  ear  that  she  jerked  her  head  away  from 


I40  The  'Fraid  Cat 

the  receiver,  ceased  speaking,  and  waited  until 
the  vocal  disturbances  had  subsided. 

**Dey  is  tryin'  to  bu'st  in  de  front  door, 
Skeeter!"  Dazzle  told  him.  "Me  an'  Hopey  lef 
de  kitchen  door  onlocked  so  Vinegar  Atts  could 
come  in  when  he  got  back.  Ef  dem  robbers  goes 
aroun'  to  de  back  side  de  house,  dey'll  shore  git  in. 
Come  up  here  right  away  an'  rescue  us!" 

A  squealing  interrogation  sounded  through  the 
phone,  and  Dazzle  smiled  as  she  answered : 

"Dar  ain't  more'n  seven  robbers,  Skeeter.  But 
you  kin  lick  'em  like  you  done  in  de  army.  Don't 
git  skeart!" 

Although  Skeeter's  reply  was  not  intelligible, 
his  shrieking  voice,  in  reply,  was  audible  even  in 
the  drawing-room,  where  Hopey  sat  shaking  like 
a  jelly-bowl  with  laughter. 

**Come  all  alone  by  yo'se'f,  Skeeter!"  Dazzle 
implored  him.  "Us  don't  want  no  crowd  up  here 
an'  no  excitemunt.     Don't  tell  no  white  folks!" 

Dazzle  paused  to  listen  to  a  few  more  excited 
squawkings  from  the  telephone,  then  she  com- 
manded : 

"Come  by  yo'se'f,  an'  come  in  a  hurry,  befo'  I 
gits  kilt!    Fer  Gawd's  sake,  hurry,  Skeeter!" 

She  left  the  telephone  and  entered  the  room 
where  Hopey  sat,  smiling  with  great  satisfaction. 

"You  done  played  a  fool  now!"  Hopey  told  her. 

Dazzle  preened  herself  before  a  mirror  in  prepa- 
ration for  Skeeter's  arrival. 


The  'Fraid  Cat  141 


tn 


'Skeeter's  comin*,  Hopey,"  Dazzle  giggled. 
**  'Tain't  no  matter  how  big  a  coward  a  feller  is, 
he's  afraid  to  cornfess  dat  he's  a  'fraid-cat!" 

II 

Skeeter  Butts  hung  up  the  receiver  at  his  end  of 
the  line  and  staggered  across  the  Hen-Scratch  sa- 
loon. His  face  was  convulsed,  and  the  odd  dis- 
tortions due  to  the  contraction  and  relaxation  of 
its  muscles  would  lead  one  to  believe  that  an  elec- 
tric shock  received  over  the  telephone  had  twisted 
his  face  and  he  was  trying  to  set  it  right. 

Skeeter  had  received  a  shock.  Four  friends, 
beholding  him,  noted  that  his  face  was  bloodless, 
his  yellow  fingers  trembled  and  were  beyond  his 
control,  his  knees  shook  and  buckled  under  him  as 
he  walked,  and  his  chin  was  aquiver. 

"Bad  luck,  niggers,"  he  whined  through  chatter- 
ing teeth.  ''A  band  of  robbers  has  busted  into 
Marse  Tom  Gaitskill's  house,  an'  dey  is  killin' 
Dazzle  Zenor." 

The  four  men  sitting  at  the  table  quivered  with 
excitement  mingled  with  fear.  With  that  emo- 
tional race,  any  sort  of  excitement  is  expressed 
by  noise,  but  fear  calls  for  silence.  For  a  brief 
time  the  silence  was  so  great  that  the  five  could 
distinctly  hear  the  ticking  of  Hitch  Diamond's  big 
silver  watch. 

Hitch  Diamond,  the  big  prize-fighter,  sat  in  a 


142  The  Traid  Cat 

rickety  chair.  As  he  meditated  upon  the  possi- 
bilities of  the  case  which  Skeeter  had  stated,  and 
his  emotions  increased,  that  chair  produced  an 
irritating  squeak  with  every  inhalation  and  expul- 
sion of  Hitch's  breath.  All  the  noise  produced  in 
that  room  was  caused  by  Hitch's  watch  and  his 
chair.  The  rest  were  like  frightened  quail  that 
squat  and  try  to  merge  with  the  scenery. 

It  seemed  to  be  a  long,  long  time  before  anyone 
ventured  to  break  that  oppressive  silence.  Finally 
Hitch  spoke  bravely : 

**Go  up  an'  rescue  Dazzle,  Skeeter.  I'll  be 
glad  to  stay  behime  an'  take  keer  of  de  saloon." 

Four  chairs  moved  uneasily,  emitting  a  scraping 
sound.  Figger  Bush  pulled  a  corncob  pipe  from 
his  pocket,  and  his  trembling  hands  caused  the 
stem  to  drop  from  the  cob  and  fall  under  the 
table.  Figger  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  found  that 
it  was  dark  under  the  table,  and  straightened  up 
without  his  pipe-stem.  He  could  get  that  pipe- 
stem  to-morrow. 

"Me,  too,"  Figger  Bush  quacked.  "I'll  he'p 
Hitchie  keep  de  saloon." 

Mustard  Prophet,  the  scientific  agriculturist  of 
the  party,  took  a  big  red  apple  from  his  pocket 
and  bit  deeply  into  its  juicy  substance.  He  was 
trying  to  appear  disinterested,  but  his  favorite 
kind  of  apple  was  tasteless  to  him  now. 

"Dar  ain't  no  use  fer  de  rest  of  us  to  go,"  Mus- 
tard muttered  thickly,  munching  at  his  apple,  and 


The  Traid  Cat  i43 

glancing  at  Pap  Curtain.  "Skeeter  kin  handle 
de  case " 

"You  got  to  go  wid  me,  Mustard,"  Skeeter  in- 
terrupted. ' '  Dazzle  tole  me  dat  Hopey  wus  in  de 
house,  too — an'  de  robbers  is  killin'  her." 

The  part  of  the  apple  Mustard  held  in  his  fingers 
slipped  away  and  rolled  across  the  saloon  floor; 
the  part  he  had  in  his  mouth  strangled  in  his 
quivering  throat. 

"Dat's  too  bad,"  he  announced  in  a  tone  of  dis- 
interested sympathy.  "But  dat  serves  Hopey 
right,  an*  she  deeserves  all  she  gits.  Me  an'  my 
nigger  wife  don't  speak  no  more.  I  went  dar  to- 
night, an'  axed  Hopey  to  gimme  some  hot  biscuits 
an'  a  few  sirup,  an'  she  wouldn't  do  it !" 

**I  think  dis  here  is  yo'  job,  Skeeter,"  Pap  Cur- 
tain snarled,  the  habitual  sneer  upon  his  face 
becoming  more  acute  and  repulsive  as  he  tried  to 
conceal  his  timidity.  "Dazzle  didn't  want  none 
of  us  buttin'  in,  or  she'd  axed  fer  us.  Ef  you  wants 
to  make  a  hit  wid  Dazzle,  you  got  to  pick  up  a 
brave  heart  an'  go  out  dar  an'  kill  dat  band  of 
robbers — jes'  like  when  you  wus  in  de  army." 

"But  us  army  soldiers  didn't  do  no  fightin'  all 
by  our  lonely  selfs,"  Skeeter  wailed.  "We  fi't  an* 
bled  an'  died  in  regimints!" 

"You  oughter  hab  fotch  yo'  army  home  wid 
you,"  Pap  sneered.  "Somepin  like  dis  might 
happen  sudden  any  time,  an'  you  knowed  you'd 
need  it." 


144  The  'Fraid  Cat 

The  telephone  rang  sharply,  and  every  man 
jumped  with  fright. 

''Gosh,  dat  skeart  me!"  Pap  Curtain  exclaimed. 
"Answer  de  telerphome,  Skeeter." 

"Answer  de  telerphome,  Figger,"  Skeeter 
squalled,  feeling  nervously  in  all  his  pockets  as  if 
he  were  hunting  for  the  most  important  thing  in 
the  world  and  could  not  abandon  the  search. 

"My  shoe-string  is  come  ontied,"  Figger  an- 
swered as  he  bent  over  his  foot.  ' '  You  answer  de 
phome.  Mustard!" 

Mustard  did  not  move.  The  telephone  bell 
subsided  with  a  final  little  tinkle. 

"Dar  now,  it's  too  late!"  Mustard  lamented.  "I'd 
'a'  answered,  only  but  I'm  total  deef  in  one  y-ear." 

The  telephone  rang  again,  sharply,  insistently ; 
rang  for  a  good  five  minutes. 

"Answer  it,  Hitch  Diamond!"  Skeeter  wailed 
in  the  midst  of  the  sound. 

Hitch  pretended  not  to  hear. 

"I  bet  dat  is  Hopey  telerphomin'  me  dat  she's 
dead,"  Mustard  Prophet  muttered  in  pitiful  fright. 
"I  won't  never  git  no  more  hot  biscuits.  Hopey 
wus  shore  a  good  cook  an'  a  good  wife.  Us  had 
little  spats,  but  dar  warn't  never  nohardfeelin's." 

* '  Come  on,  fellers, ' '  Skeeter  interrupted.  * '  Less 
go  up  on  de  hill  an'  see  whut's  happened." 

"I  ain't  gwine  in  dat  house!"  Pap  Curtain  ex- 
claimed. "I  don't  like  to  see  blood  spilt  aroun* 
all  over  Marse  Tom's  nice  carpets." 


The  Traid  Cat  145 

"I  hope  dey  don't  spile  de  floor  too  much," 
Hitch  grumbled  as  he  rose  to  his  feet.  "Marse 
Tom  always  makes  me  scrub  up  de  messes  because 
Hopey's  too  dang  fat  to  lean  over." 

**ril  let  Pap  guard  de  front  of  de  house  an'  hide 
behime  de  big  pecan-tree,"  Skeeter  announced, 
glad  enough  to  get  company.  ''Hitch  kin  guard 
de  kitchen  by  hidin'  behime  de  meat-house.  Figger 
an'  Mustard  kin  guard  each  side  of  de  house  by 
layin'  on  de  groun'  outside  de  lawn-fence." 

While  Skeeter  was  issuing  these  orders,  Little 
Bit  had  entered  the  saloon,  and  stood  listening. 
When  Skeeter  ended,  he  spoke : 

"I's  gwine  guard  de  Hen-Scratch  by  hidin'  be- 
hime de  bar  counter,"  he  giggled,  without  an  idea 
what  all  the  excitement  was  about. 

"Whar  you  been  at,  you  little  debbil  ? "  Skeeter 
Butts  snapped,  whirling  about  to  face  the  Hen- 
Scratch's  factotum.  "You  stay  an'  keep  dis 
saloon — an'  ef  de  telerphome  rings,  you  answer  it." 

Skeeter  ran  to  a  little  safe  in  the  corner  of  the 
saloon  and  brought  forth  four  guns,  which  he  dis- 
tributed to  their  rightful  owners ;  then  he  took  his 
own  automatic  from  behind  the  bar,  and  the  five 
negroes  started  in  a  swift  run  for  Gaitskill's  home. 

By  the  time  they  had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the 
hill  on  which  the  fine  colonial  home  was  located, 
they  entered  the  yard,  breathless  and  panting. 
From  that  high  point  they  could  look  out  over  the 
village,  glowing  in  the  darkness  like  a  great  fire- 


146  The  'Fraid  Cat 

fly,  with  its  countless  lights  on  the  crooked  streets 
and  its  glowing  windows.  But  their  attention  was 
concentrated  upon  the  house  before  them.  The 
drawing-room  glowed  with  brilliant  light. 

Four  of  the  men  quickly  went  to  the  places  as- 
signed them  and  dropped  down  in  hiding.  Skeeter 
sneaked  from  shrub  to  shrub,  lay  down  and 
crawled  around  rose-bushes,  ran  from  the  shelter 
of  one  tree  across  the  exposed  and  open  places  to 
the  grateful  shelter  of  another  tree,  until  he  came 
close  to  one  of  the  lighted  windows.  Reaching 
up,  he  straddled  the  limb  over  his  head  and  looked 
fearfully  into  the  drawing-room. 

He  saw  Hopey  and  Dazzle  seated  very  com- 
fortably. They  seemed  to  be  very  much  amused 
at  something,  for  they  laughed  constantly. 

*'Dis  here  is  some  kind  of  joke,"  Skeeter  mut- 
tered to  himself  as  he  dropped  from  the  limb.  *  *  I'll 
sneak  in  de  kitchen  an'  come  through  de  house 
an'  supprise  'em." 

Slipping  to  the  rear,  he  emitted  a  low  whistle 
and  located  Hitch  Diamond  by  the  meat-house, 
which  gave  him  the  courage  to  open  the  door  of 
the  dark  kitchen  and  enter. 

There  was  not  a  negro  in  this  rescue-party  who 
was  not  thoroughly  familiar  with  the  Gaitskill 
home.  In  the  years  past  they  had  served  in  that 
house  in  every  capacity,  and  knew  every  room  and 
closet,  and  the  contents  of  each.  There  were  a 
dozen  other  homes  in  Tickfall  with  which  they 


The  Traid  Cat  H7 

were  equally  familiar,  for  the  good  house  servant 
is  a  privileged  character  in  the  house,  and  his 
presence  in  the  home  is  coveted  by  every  house- 
keeper. 

So  it  was  no  trouble  for  Skeeter  to  find  his  way 
in  the  dark  to  the  lighted  drawing-room. 

A  bellow  of  fright  from  Hopey  and  a  squeal  of 
terror  from  Dazzle  greeted  him  as  he  stepped  from 
behind  a  door  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand. 

"Whut  you  got  to  say  now,  Hopey?"  Dazzle 
exclaimed,  when  she  recovered  from  her  fright. 
**I  tole  you  Skeeter  wus  a  brave  nigger " 

There  was  a  loud  clatter  at  the  front  door,  and 
Pap  Curtain's  voice  spoke: 

* '  Open  dis  door,  Skeeter !    Hurry ! ' ' 

Skeeter  sprang  to  the  door  and  threw  it  open. 
Little  Bit,  panting,  dripping  with  perspiration, 
and  almost  exhausted,  was  pushed  into  the  room 
by  Pap  Curtain,  who  had  to  support  him  to  pre- 
vent his  falling  to  the  floor.  In  the  blaze  of  light 
which  came  through  the  open  door,  Figger  and 
Mustard  and  Hitch  got  the  courage  to  come  out 
from  their  hiding-places  and  listen. 

"Bad  luck,  Skeeter!"  Little  Bit  panted.  "I 
ain't  know  whut  kind  of  nigger  bizziness  dis  is, 
but  you-alls  is  got  yo'selfs  in  a  jam." 

**How  you  know?"  Skeeter  quavered. 

**I  answered  de  telerphome,"  Little  Bit  gasped. 

**Whut  did  it  say?"  Skeeter  asked  desperately. 

**It  say — it  say —  de  gal  at  de  telerphome  orfice 


148  The  'Fraid  Cat 

say  she  listened  in  when  Dazzle  phomed  to  you,  an* 
dat  she  has  called  all  de  white  folks  in  Tickfall 
up  an'  tole  'em  dat  Marse  Tom's  house  wus  being 
robbed!" 

Thereupon  Hopey  Prophet  walked  to  the  elec- 
tric-light switch  and  turned  out  every  light.  There 
are  those  who  love  darkness  rather  than  light  be- 
cause their  deeds  are  evil. 

*' Listen!"  Pap  exclaimed  tragically.  **I  kin 
hear  dem  white  folks  comin'  now!" 

Indeed,  it  was  not  difficult  to  hear  the  sound  of 
running  feet.  A  moment  later  could  be  heard 
the  galloping  feet  of  horses.  Then  automobile 
lights  began  to  whip  the  darkness  as  they  turned 
the  comers  at  high  speed  and  roared  like  speeding 
beasts  as  they  came  up  the  long  hill.  Then,  in  the 
darkness,  a  great  light  fell  on  Skeeter. 

"Us  niggers  oughtn't  to  be  here  when  de  white 
folks  come, ' '  he  wailed.  * '  Ef  dey  ketch  us  in  here, 
dey'll  put  us  in  jail.  Ef  dey  see  us  leavin',  dey '11 
shoot  us!" 

"Easy,  eve'ybody!"  Pap  Curtain  hissed  as  he 
opened  the  front  door.     * '  Git  still ! ' ' 

Then  a  low  sigh  of  disappointment  escaped  from 
every  throat.  The  front  lawn  was  all  aquiver 
with  the  dark  shadows  of  moving  men ! 

*  *  Good-by,  fair  world ! "  Figger  Bush  whimpered. 
"Us  is  caught  like  a  bug  in  a  jug." 

"Shut  up!"  Pap  Curtain  snarled.  "Whar  kin 
we  hide?" 


The  Traid  Cat  149 

**Git  up  on  de  roof!"  Skeeter  Butts  suggested. 
* 'Bar's  a  ladder  in  de  attic,  an*  we  kin  climb 
through  a  trap-door  to  de  roof.'* 

Eight  negroes  went  shuffling  up  the  steps  toward 
the  top  of  the  house  just  as  the  clatter  of  feet 
sounded  upon  the  porch,  and  the  front  door  was 
pushed  open. 

Foiu*  perspiring  negroes  boosted  Hopey  up  the 
ladder,  and  pushed  her  capacious  form  through 
the  narrow  square  opening  to  the  roof.  Then  they 
cautiously  lowered  the  door  and  gratefully  seated 
themselves  upon  it. 

' '  Safe ! ' '  Skeeter  exulted.     "  Us  is  safe ! ' ' 

Alas!  He  did  not  know  that  the  door  he  was 
sitting  on  had  a  catch-lock  on  the  inside,  and  that 
he  and  his  friends  were  on  that  roof  to  stay  imtil 
rescued! 

Ill 

From  their  observatory  upon  the  roof,  our 
friends  beheld  a  mob  of  men  surround  the  house 
and  cautiously  inspect  all  the  lawn,  the  outhouses, 
and  the  land  surrounding.  Half  a  dozen  men 
under  the  direction  of  Sheriff  Floumoy  searched 
the  house,  lighting  up  every  room,  looking  in  every 
closet,  examining  every  comer,  and  peering  imder 
every  bed. 

"I  reckon  the  robbers,  if  any,  got  away,  fellows," 
Flournoy  announced  as  he  came  out  on  the  front 


ISO  The  'Fraid  Cat 

porch.  **We  canno  find  anybody,  and  cannot 
see  that  anything  has  been  disturbed." 

"Where  are  the  niggers  who  raised  the  alarm?" 
a  voice  asked. 

"I  guess  they  hit  the  grit,"  Flournoy  smiled. 
"I  can't  imagine  Hopey  and  Dazzle  staying  to  see 
what  a  burglar  wanted,  or  returning  to  see  what 
he  got." 

"Here's  one  nigger  has  showed  up!"  a  voice 
responded. 

"White  folks!"  Vinegar  Atts  bawled  as  he  was 
pushed  into  the  light  through  a  crowd  of  men. 
"Whut  done  happened  to  Marse  Tom's  house?" 

** Where  have  you  been?"  Flournoy  snapped. 

**  Jes'  got  back  from  a  chu'ch  religious  meetin',*' 
Vinegar  explained.  "Marse  Tom  lef  me  an* 
Hopey  in  charge  of  dis  house,  an'  he  ain't  gwine 
approve  his  lawn  gittin'  trompled  up  wid  white 
folks." 

"Somebody  tried  to  rob  this  house  while  you 
were  away,"  Flournoy  told  him. 

Vinegar's  eyes  opened  until  they  glowed  in  the 
light  from  the  porch  like  two  china  door-knobs. 

'  *  Did  you-all  good  white  folks  ketch  de  robber  ?  '* 

"No." 

"Did  de  robber  steal  anything?" 

"No." 

"WharisHopeyat?" 

"The  robber  may  have  kidnapped  her." 

"You's  prankin'  wid  me,  Marse  John,"  Vinegar 


The  Traid  Cat  151 

howled.  '*Dar  ain*t  no  one  robber  could  kidnack 
Hopey.  Dat  wus  a  hand  of  robbers — I  surmises 
about  fawty  in  de  gang." 

Vinegar  fumbled  with  his  hat,  and  his  breath 
came  and  went  in  labored  gasps. 

"I'm  glad  de  robbers  never  stole  nothin',"  he 
sighed.  *'Dat  house  am  plum'  full  of  pretty 
doodads,  an'  ef  Marse  Tom  wus  to  come  home  an' 
find  dem  rooms  empty,  I'd  hab  to  esplain  to  him. 
An'  Marse  Tom  cain't  onderstand  nothin' — when 
a  nigger  esplains." 

Vinegar  shook  his  head  in  great  perplexity  over 
this  particular  white  man's  mental  fulness.  One 
of  the  mysteries  of  his  life  was  that  he  had  never 
put  anything  across  with  Colonel  Gaitskill.  He 
knew  the  end  from  the  beginning,  and  all  the 
ramifications  thereof,  and  with  him.  Vinegar's 
explanations  never  explained.  They  merely  caused 
complications. 

"Whut  is  us  gwine  do  now,  Marse  John?"  he 
asked. 

*'I'm  going  to  leave  you  to  guard  this  house 
until  daylight,"  Flournoy  told  him.  "Then  I'll 
come  and  examine  it  more  carefully." 

"I  ain't  got  to  guard  it  from  de  inside,  is  I, 
Marse  John?"  Vinegar  asked  in  frightened 
tones. 

"Yes — no,  I  think  you  had  better  stay  outside," 
Flournoy  replied  in  a  meditative  tone.  "If  you 
go  inside,  you'll  go  to  sleep.     If  you  stay  out,  the 


152  The  'Fraid  Cat 

weather  is  'most  too  cool  to  sleep  comfortably, 
and  you  will  have  intervals  of  wakefulness." 

"I  ain't  gwine  sleep  wid  no  band  of  burglars 
trapesin'  aroun',"  Vinegar  assured  him  stoutly. 
"But  I'll  feel  a  whole  heap  safer  on  de  outside.'* 

"I'll  leave  an  automatic  shotgun  and  two  pistols 
with  you,  Vinegar,"  Flournoy  said.  "Now  you 
sit  down  by  that  tree  over  there  and  keep  watch. 
Hear  me?" 

"I  prefers  to  stand  up  an'  keep  watch,  Marse 
John,"  Vinegar  said  as  he  placed  the  two  pistols  in 
his  pocket  and  reached  out  for  the  gun.  '  *  I  never 
could  shoot  good  settin'  down." 

"You  can't  run  good  settin'  down,  either,  can 
you?"  Flournoy  said  mockingly. 

"Naw,  suh,  I  cain't  git  a  real  good  runnin' 
start,"  Vinegar  chuckled. 

"If  you  see  anybody,  don't  you  run — ^you 
shoot!"  Flournoy  snapped.  "But  don't  shoot 
until  we  all  get  off  this  lot." 

"Dis  here  powder  an'  shot  don't  cost  me 
nothin',"  Vinegar  grinned.  "I'll  shore  shoot — 
but  I  ain't  sayin'  dat  I  won't  run.  My  religium 
teaches  me  to  exoncise  discretion." 

Thereupon  the  crowd,  with  much  joking  and 
loud  laughter,  wandered  off  toward  the  town. 
They  assembled  in  various  popular  resorts  for 
liquid  refreshment,  and  then  went  home  for  the 
night. 

Vinegar  stood  under  the  tree  in  the  silence  and 


The  Traid  Cat  153 

darkness.  His  first  thought  was  that  he  would 
stand  Hke  a  watchful  sentinel  all  night  long.  But 
the  novelty  of  standing  guard  over  a  silent,  un- 
lighted  house  soon  wore  off,  especially  when,  as  he 
expressed  it,  **  standing  up  ailed  his  feets." 

He  sat  down  "to  rest  his  feets,"  removing  his 
shoes  for  greater  comfort.  He  had  spent  many 
years  of  his  life  on  that  hill,  and  it  had  always 
seemed  to  be  a  populous  place  up  to  that  night. 
Now  it  was  lonely  and  lonesome ;  nobody  to  talk 
to  but  himself,  a  poor  listener  and  an  unedifying 
conversationalist. 

Sitting  upright  "ailed  his  back."  He  shuffled 
along  the  ground  on  the  seat  of  his  trousers  until 
he  felt  the  trunk  of  the  tree  as  a  support  for  his 
spine.  Holding  the  chilly  barrel  of  his  shotgun 
"ailed  his  hands";  sitting  upon  the  two  pistols  in 
his  hip  pockets  "ailed  his  thighs."  He  laid  his 
weapons  aside  within  easy  reach. 

The  ground  was  warmer  than  the  trunk  of  the 
tree  against  which  he  was  leaning.  It  wouldn't 
do  for  his  back  to  get  chilled — he  might  catch  ' '  de 
Spanish  fluence."  So  he  placed  the  spine  of  his 
back  level  with  the  earth  and  permitted  the  genial 
warmth  of  the  soil  to  permeate  his  massive  frame 
from  his  head  to  his  heels.  Lying  flat  upon  the 
ground  "ailed  his  head."  He  reached  for  his 
shoes,  placed  them  under  his  head  for  a  pillow, 
looked  straight  up  in  the  sky  and  counted  three 
stars — four — seven — f  o '  teen 


154  The  Traid  Cat 

About  that  time,  eight  negroes  who  had  been 
crouched  in  very  cramped  attitudes  on  the  steep 
roof,  stood  up  to  ease  themselves  and  seek  more 
comfortable  positions. 

''How  we  gwine  git  word  to  Vinegar  'thout 
gittin'  our  fool  heads  shot  off?"  Pap  Curtain 
whispered,  looking  down  into  the  yard,  where  he 
could  see  a  dark  mass  under  a  tree. 

"Telerphome  him,"  Little  Bit  suggested. 

"Us  mought  start  to  sing  a  religious  toon,'* 
Figger  Bush,  vocalist,  proposed.  "Dat'U  ca'm 
his  mind  an'  make  him  peaceful." 

*'Wid  all  dem  guns  on  him,  we  wants  him  to 
favor  peace,"  Skeeter  agreed. 

"Singin'  on  top  of  de  Shoofiy  Chu'ch  mought 
ca'm  his  mind, ' '  Hitch  rumbled  doubtfully.  ' '  But 
ef  he  hears  singin'  on  top  of  dis  house,  it  mought 
trouble  his  mind." 

''Don't  whisper  so  loud,"  Dazzle  warned  the 
men.  "Ef  de  white  folks  ketch  us  up  on  dis  roof 
dey'll  kill  us  dead  wid  guns  an'  put  us  in  jail." 

"  'Twon't  be  no  worse  dan  spendin'  de  rest  of 
our  lives  up  on  de  top  shelf  of  dis  house,"  Pap  Cur- 
tain retorted. 

"  'Tain't  no  reason  fer  us  to  set  up  on  top  of  dis 
roof,"  Hitch  Diamond  growled.  "Us  might  git 
sleepy  an'  roll  off  an'  bu'st  our  self  s  like  a  water- 
millyum.  Less  git  down  through  de  trap-door 
into  de  attic." 

"Of  co'se,  dat's  de  idear!"  Skeeter  applauded. 


The  'Fraid  Cat  155 

"Vinegar  ain't  guarding  but  one  side  of  dis  house 
nohow.  Us  11  slip  out  on  de  yuther  side  an'  go 
away  from  here." 

He  reached  for  the  edge  of  the  door  and  tried 
to  lift  it.  It  would  not  move.  The  latch  on  the 
other  side  of  that  door  had  held  the  door  in  place 
through  Gulf  storms  which  had  snapped  trees  like 
toothpicks. 

"Dis  door  is  heavy,  Hitch — git  aholt!"  Skeeter 
panted,  straining  at  his  task. 

Four  negro  men  promptly  lent  their  aid  and 
lifted,  but  they  did  not  lift  the  door. 

"My  lawdymussy!"  Hitch  Diamond  sighed 
with  sudden  enlightenment,  as  the  cold,  nervous 
sweat  popped  out  on  his  forehead  with  the  realiza- 
tion of  their  predicament.  "I  knows  whut  us  is 
done.  Dis  dang  door  is  got  a  ketch-lock  on  de  in- 
side, an'  us  is  done  locked  ourselfs  out  an'  up  on 
deroof!" 

"Is  you  plum'  shore,  Hitchie?"  Skeeter  asked 
in  a  voice  that  was  near  to  tears. 

"I  knows  it,"  Hitch  whispered.  "Marse  Tom 
sont  me  up  here  one  time  to  look  fer  a  leak  in  de 
roof,  an'  I  locked  myse'f  out  in  jes'  dis  same  way." 

"How  did  you  git  rescued,  Hitchie?"  Skeeter 
asked  tearfully. 

"I  hollered  fer  he'p  till  Marse  Tom  come  up  an* 
onlatched  de  door  from  de  inside,"  Hitch  told  him. 

"No  fair  hoUerin'  fer  Marse  Tom  now,"  Skeeter 
said  hopelessly.     "  We  is  all  dead  niggers. " 


156  The  'Fraid  Cat 

**Mebbe  ef  we  wait  till  day  Vinegar  will  see  us 
an*  exoncise  some  sense — "  Hopey  began. 

"Shut  up,  Hopey,"  Skeeter  interrupted.  "Ef 
we  waits  till  dat  nigger  preacher  gits  sense,  us '11 
be  here  till  he  dies  fer  he  ain't  never  aimin'  todes 
no  sense.  An'  ef  he  looks  up  in  de  dawn's  early 
light  an'  sees  eight  kinky  heads  peepin'  at  him 
over  de  edge  of  dis  roof — he'll  shoot,  an'  dar'U  be 
eight  blackbirds  bakin'  in  a  pie!" 

"Lemme  go  take  a  peep  at  Revun  Atts  now, 
befo'  day,"  Little  Bit  said,  as  he  removed  his  shoes 
and  began  to  crawl  carefully  through  the  darkness 
toward  the  edge  of  the  roof.  He  was  gone  a  long 
time,  and  the  others  waited  his  return  in  silence. 
At  last  he  crawled  back  and  said : 

"I  b'lieves  dat  Vinegar  is  asleep,  brudders.  It 
'pears  to  me  like  he's  layin'  down  flat,  an'  ef  you 
listens  real  good  I  think  us  kin  hear  him  snore." 

"Dat  don't  he'p  us  none,"  Hitch  Diamond 
grumbled.  "Ef  anything  wakes  him  up,  he'll  be 
more  skeart  dan  ever,  an'  he'll  beller  like  a  cow." 

They  sat  down  on  the  trap-door  and  waited  a 
long  time,  each  one  trying  to  devise  some  plan 
of  escape. 

Finally,  in  desperation,  Skeeter  Butts  removed 
his  shoes  and  crawled  to  the  edge  of  the  roof. 

"Hello,  Revun!"  he  exclaimed  in  a  low  tone. 
But  Vinegar's  audible  breathing  was  undisturbed 
by  the  birdlike  voice. 

"Hey,  elder!"  Skeeter  hailed,  getting  louder. 


The  Traid  Cat  i57 

Skeeter  frightened  himself  by  the  courageous  loud- 
ness of  his  voice,  but  Vinegar  heard  nothing  to 
interrupt  his  dreams. 

"Ho!  Vinegar  Atts!"  Skeeter  barked;  and 
when  he  perceived  no  effect,  he  howled:  "Hey, 
you  ole  fool  nigger  preacher,  wake  up!     Git  up!" 

"Hush,  Skeeter!"  Mustard  Prophet  warned 
him.  "You're  hollerin'  loud  enough  to  wake  up 
all  de  white  folks  in  dis  town,  but  it  takes  a  real 
whoopful  tone  to  wake  a  nigger.  Don't  fotch  all 
de  white  folks  up  on  us." 

"How  we  gwine  git  dis  old  fool  woked  up?" 
Skeeter  snapped. 

' '  Take  a  brick  off  de  top  of  de  chimney  an'  throw 
it  down  at  him,"  Little  Bit  suggested. 

They  wrenched  of^  a  brick  and  threw  it.  It 
hit  the  ground  with  a  loud  slap.     Vinegar  slept  on. 

"I  knowed  dat  would  be  de  come-out,"  Hitch 
grumbled.  ' '  Bricks  won't  wake  up  a  nigger  onless 
dey  land  on  his  head!" 

"Whut  we  gwine  do?"  Skeeter  wailed.  "I 
never  wus  as  tired  roostin'  on  a  roof  in  my  life.'* 

Nobody  answered,  and  there  was  silence  while 
all  pondered  the  problem.  The  next  suggestion 
came  from  Figger  Bush. 

"I  read  in  a  book  about  a  man  dat  escaped  out 
of  jail  by  tyin'  his  clothes  togedder  an'  makin'  a 
rope.  Mebbe  ef  we  tear  up  our  clothes  an'  make 
a  rope  an'  let  Little  Bit  down  to  de  groun' " 

"Who— me.?     Little  Bit  demanded.      "Naw! 


I5B  The  Traid  Cat 

But  I'll  he'p  hold  de  rope  while  Hitch  Diamond 
climbs  down." 

"I  got  de  idear,  niggers!"  Pap  Curtain  put  in. 
' '  Less  set  somepin  on  fire  an'  throw  it  down  by 
de  side  of  Vinegar.  Dat'll  wake  him  up  all  right, 
an'  it'll  gib  a  good  light  fer  him  to  see  his  friends 

by." 

"How  come  you  didn't  think  of  dat  sooner, 
Pap?"  Skeeter  asked,  as  he  removed  his  coat  and 
began  to  pull  off  his  shirt.  "I  contributes  my 
shirt  fer  de  blaze!" 

Thereupon  they  tied  Skeeter 's  shirt  into  a  tight 
wad,  struck  a  match,  and  set  fire  to  it.  When  the 
blaze  grew  strong,  they  tossed  it  over  the  edge  of 
the  roof. 

Their  aim  was  good — too  good.  When  Vinegar 
waked  up  he  found  the  lawn  glowing  with  light, 
and  throwing  fantastic  shadows  upon  the  sides  of 
the  house — shadows  that  resembled  giant  figures, 
figures  which  possessed  hoof  and  wing  and  beak 
and  claw  and  forked  tail  and  leering  looks  and 
sneering  mouths,  all  the  malice  of  deformity.  And 
he  also  saw  that  the  rear  portion  of  his  swing-tail 
preaching  coat  was  on  fire ! 

Then  he  split  the  silence  of  the  night  with  a  cry 
which  makes  every  nerve  quiver  whenever  it  is 
heard.  Vinegar's  voice  had  been  trained  for  vo- 
dferation  by  years  of  exercise  in  calling  for  strayed 
hogs  in  the  swamp,  by  preaching  to  somnolent 
negroes  to  whom  his  voice  must  carry  through 


The  'Fraid  Cat  i59 

slumberland,  and  by  camp-meeting  singing  where 
sound  took  the  place  of  symphony.  That  cry 
was  louder  than  any  human  voice  had  ever  uttered 
inTickfall: 

"Fie-ur-r!    Fie-ur-r!     Fie-ur-r!" 

Smothering  the  fire  on  the  tail  of  his  Prince 
Albert  coat  with  his  hands,  Vinegar  seized  his 
automatic  shotgun  and  fired  six  times  in  the  air. 
Then  he  emptied  two  automatic  pistols  into  the 
circumambient  atmosphere,  and  above  all  the 
roar  of  his  artillery  he  continued  to  bellow : 

'*  Fie-ur-r!     Fie-ur-r!    Fie-ur-r!" 

The  night  watchman  down  in  the  town  heard 
that  cry  and  pulled  a  pistol  from  his  pocket,  firing 
six  times  in  the  air.  Running  into  the  court- 
house, he  pulled  frantically  at  the  bell-rope,  and 
the  wild  clangor  of  the  alarm  reverberated  through 
the  empty  streets.     Then  voices  answered: 

**  Fie-ur-r!    Fie-ur-r!    Fie-ur-r!'* 

IV 

From  their  high  perch  on  top  of  the  house,  the 
eight  negroes  could  look  down  upon  the  entire 
village  of  Tickfall.  Appalled  by  the  unexpected 
outcome  of  their  ruse,  they  were  terrified  beyond 
description  as  they  beheld  an  entire  village  sud- 
denly awake  from  slumber  to  most  intense  excite- 
ment and  activity. 

First,  they  saw  the  electric  lights  flash  up  in 


i6o  The  'Fraid  Cat 

every  house  in  Tickfall.  A  moment  later  a  large 
shaft  of  light  flared  across  the  darkness  as  a  man 
opened  a  door,  stepping  out  in  front  with  shot- 
gun or  pistol.  A  moment  later  a  number  of  quick 
flashes  of  light  in  front  of  each  house  and  the  sound 
of  shots.  It  was  thus  that  each  man  in  the  village 
sought  to  arouse  his  neighbors,  the  promiscuous 
shooting  being  a  fire  signal  in  all  Louisiana  villages. 

Far  over  in  the  other  end  of  the  town  the  negroes 
beheld  a  great  chimney  belching  glowing  sparks 
from  its  top,  and  then  from  that  station  a  siren- 
whistle  sounded  its  weird  screech,  telling  the 
inhabitants  of  Tickfall  that  the  immense  water- 
pumps  were  working  and  the  fire-plugs  were 
throbbing,  waiting  for  the  attachment  of  the  hose. 

In  the  center  of  the  town  two  great  lights  began 
to  whip  the  darkness,  and  another  siren  sounded, 
indicating  that  the  gasoline  fire-engine  was  leav- 
ing its  station  for  its  wild  run  up  the  hill  to  the 
Gaitskill  home. 

Then  from  all  parts  of  the  town  came  the  honk 
of  auto-horns  and  the  racket  of  cars  running  with 
the  muffler  open ;  and  the  noise  of  running,  shout- 
ing men  hiurying  to  the  scene,  shooting  firearms 
in  the  air ;  and  the  rattle  of  hose  wagons  and  ladder 
trucks  pulling  the  steep  grade;  while  on  top  of  the 
hill,  standing  on  the  Gaitskill  lawn,  was  Vinegar 
Atts,  negro  preacher,  Boanerges,  son  of  thunder, 
bawling  in  a  voice  that  would  almost  wake  the  dead : 

"Fie-ur-r!    Fie-ur-r!    Fie-ur-r!'* 


The  'Fraid  Cat  i6i 

Eight  negroes,  squatting  like  monkeys  on  the 
top  of  Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill's  house  prayed  to 
die.  They  didn't  want  to  live  another  minute. 
They  did  not  think  it  was  worth  while.  They 
were  in  the  helpless  predicament  of  some  man  who 
has  inadvertently  started  some  powerful  piece  of 
machinery  and  does  not  know  how  to  stop  it. 
They  had  certainly  started  something.  What  the 
townf ul  of  fire-fighters  would  do  to  them  when  they 
caught  them  was  something  they  did  not  care  to 
think  about.  They  preferred  to  die.  If  the 
chariot  of  the  Lord  would  just  swing  low,  there 
would  be  eight  eager  passengers  swinging  to  the 
back  step,  waiting  for  the  invitation:  "Come 
up  higher!" 

The  fire-engine  stopped  in  front  of  the  house; 
the  ladder  wagons  thundered  into  the  horse-lot  on 
the  side  of  the  lawn ;  the  multitude  of  fire-fighters 
came  romping  over  the  lawn;  the  hose  was  un- 
wound screechingly  and  dragged  to  the  nearest 
fire-plug. 

Eight  terror-stricken  negroes  lay  flat  on  their 
stomachs  on  the  roof  moaning  in  anguish,  plead- 
ing with  de  good  Lawd  to  come  an'  git  'em  now, 
befo'  de  white  folks  got  to  'em  fust,  while  Vinegar 
Atts,  raving  like  a  maniac,  pranced  up  and  down 
the  lawn,  bellowing  like  a  bull  of  Bashan: 

'*Fie-ur-r!     Fie-ur-r!     Fie-ur-r!" 

"Where  is  the  fire?"  a  volunteer  fireman 
screamed. 


162  The  'Fraid  Cat 

Vinegar  gesticulated  in  the  general  direction  of 
the  Gaitskill  homestead  and  whooped:  "Fie-ur-r!" 

"Shut  up,  you  fool!"  Sheriff  Flournoy  whooped, 
hitting  Vinegar  in  the  middle  of  the  back  with 
his  fist,  a  blow  like  the  kick  of  a  mule.  "Shut  up 
that  noise  and  show  us  the  fire!'" 

Up  to  that  moment  it  seemed  to  Vinegar  Atts 
that  the  whole  hillside  was  ablaze.  He  looked 
around  with  startled  eyes.  The  Gaitskill  home 
was  in  total  darkness.  Not  a  glow  of  fire  anywhere 
that  needed  the  aid  of  the  fire  department,  for  all 
the  fires  were  those  in  the  engine,  the  automobiles, 
and  the  cigarettes  and  cigars  of  the  men.  For 
the  first  time  the  thing  looked  to  Vinegar  like  a 
false  alarm.  A  number  of  men  gathered  around 
him,  and  he  became  frightened. 

"Befo'  Gawd,  white  folks,"  he  stammered 
hoarsely,  "dar  wus  a  fire  a  little  while  ago,  but 
I  don't  know  whar-at  it  is  now.  It  must  hab 
went  out." 

"You  went  to  sleep  and  dreamed  it!"  Flournoy 
snapped  angrily. 

"Naw,  suh,  I  ain't  been  asleep  at  all!"  Vinegar 
declared.  '  *  Of  co'se,  I  napped  a  little  early  in  de 
night,  but  I  cain't  really  say  I  sleeped.  An'  I  wus 
wid  awake  when  de  fire  bu'st  loose.  I  seen  it  wid 
my  own  eyes." 

"What  was  burning?"  Flournoy  asked. 

For  a  moment  Vinegar  could  not  recall.  Then 
he  remembered. 


The  'Fraid  Cat  163 

"Why,  boss,  my  own  coat-tail  wus  a  bumin*! 
Look  at  it !  All  de  swing-tail  part  of  my  Prancin' 
Albert  coat  is  mint — de  lef  hind  tail  is  plum* 
burnt  off!" 

One  of  the  men  backed  Vinegar  to  where  he 
could  stand  in  front  of  an  automobile  light  and 
inspected  the  rear  of  his  preaching  coat.  Vinegar 
was  right. 

"What  do  you  make  of  it,  sheriff?"  someone 
asked. 

"Aw,  I  don't  know,"  Flournoy  said  with  disgust. 
"You  can't  get  any  sense  out  of  this  old  fool." 

"I's  tellin'  all  I  knows,  Marse  John,"  Vinegar 
said  defensively.  "Ef  dar  warn't  no  fire,  how 
come  my  coat-tail  is  burnt  off?" 

"You  may  have  burnt  your  coat-tail  off  three 
days  ago,  for  all  I  know,"  Flournoy  remarked. 

"Naw,  suh;  dis  coat-tail  smells  of  fresh  fire, 
Marse  John,"  Vinegar  protested.  "Ef  you  don't 
b'lieve  me,  smell  it  yo'se'f !" 

"You  listen  to  me.  Vinegar Atts,"  Flournoy  said 
angrily.  "I'm  going  to  search  this  house  and  these 
premises  for  a  fire,  and  if  I  don't  find  one  I'm  go- 
ing to  kick  that  burnt  coat-tail  of  yours  clear  down 
the  hill  to  the  jail,  and  I'll  put  you  in  there  for  forty 
years  for  disturbing  the  peace!     Understand?" 

He  turned  and  walked  to  the  house,  stopping 
on  the  porch. 

"Listen  to  me,  everybody!"  his  authoritative 
voice  commanded.     "I  am  going  to  search  this 


164  The  Traid  Cat 

house  for  fire.  You  men  search  all  the  stables 
and  outhouses." 

Vinegar's  hand  reached  back  gingerly  in  the 
vicinity  of  his  coat-tail.  That  portion  of  his 
anatomy  was  a  particularly  soft  and  tender  spot 
on  him.  He  decided  not  to  wait  for  the  sheriff 
to  escort  him  to  jail  on  the  toe  of  his  official  boot. 
Marse  John  could  be  powerful  rough  with  cullud 
folks  if  he  wanted  to  be,  and  now  he  appeared  to 
be  mad  about  something.  Vinegar  started  down 
the  hill  toward  the  jail  on  his  own  volition;  he 
went  straight  to  the  jail,  but  he  didn't  stop  there. 
He  went  on,  and  he  kept  going  three  days. 

Eight  negroes  had  heard  the  sheriff's  announce- 
ment that  he  was  going  to  search  the  house,  and 
they  crouched  upon  the  roof  with  terror  and 
despair  in  their  hearts.  They  knew  the  white  man 
would  look  for  fire  on  the  roof! 

*'Dar  ain't  no  hope  now,  niggers,"  Pap  Curtain 
moaned.  "Us  mought  as  well  jump  off  dis  roof 
on  our  heads." 

"Mebbe  Marse  John  won't  come  up  on  dis 
roof,"  Little  Bit  remarked  hopefully. 

"Dat  white  man  don't  never  leave  nothin'  on- 
done,  Little  Bit,"  Skeeter  sighed  mournfully. 
"He'll  be  up  on  dis  roof  jes'  as  shore  as  dar  is  a  top 
to  dis  ole  house." 

"Yep,  he's  comin',"  Hitch  Diamond  rumbled. 
"I  wish  I  wus  de  tail  of  a  buzzard — I'd  hab  some 
chance  to  fly  off  from  here." 


The  Traid  Cat  165 

''Be  still,  folks;  be  still  an'  lemme  think!" 
Skeeter  Butts  exclaimed,  seating  himself  on  the 
trap-door  and  clawing  at  his  head  with  both  hands. 
"Mebbe  I  kin  pull  somepin  off!" 

"I  wish  somepin  would  pull  me  off  en  dis  roof!" 
Mustard  retorted. 

While  the  search  continued  in  the  yard  below, 
Skeeter  sat  and  thought.  Not  a  place  where  a 
spark  of  fire  might  linger  was  left  uninspected  in 
the  yard,  the  outhouses,  or  the  corners  of  the 
fence.  Within  the  house,  Flournoy  was  just  as 
particular  and  minute  in  his  search.  First  the 
entire  lower  floor  was  subjected  to  the  closest  in- 
spection. Then  he  moved  up  the  steps  and 
searched  in  every  room  and  closet.  Then  he 
moved  up  a  third  flight  of  steps,  and  stood  looking 
at  the  contents  of  the  attic,  the  accumulation  of 
cast-off  stuff  of  years,  sniffing  for  the  odor  of 
smoke,  glaring  in  the  darkness  for  the  smallest 
gleam  of  fire. 

He  knew  that  house  through  associations  which 
carried  him  back  to  his  earliest  childhood.  With 
his  electric  flash-light  he  found  the  ladder  in  the 
attic  which  led  up  to  the  roof.  He  remembered 
climbing  that  ladder,  or  a  ladder  like  that,  fifty 
years  before  for  a  boyish  view  of  the  world  from 
that  high  point. 

Slowly  he  climbed  upward  until  his  groping 
hands  touched  the  trap-door  above  his  head. 

Skeeter  Butts  suddenly  rose  from  his  seat  upon 


166  The  'Fraid  Cat 

the  trap-door,  belled  his  hands  around  his  mouth, 
and  said  in  a  loud  whisper : 

"Lay  down  flat  on  de  roof,  niggers,  an'  say  yo* 
prayers!  Lay  down  an'  be  still  ef  you  wants  to 
save  you  lives!" 

Then  the  trap-door  was  slowly  raised  about  a 
foot.  Skeeter  stepped  upon  the  door  with  his 
full  weight  and  mashed  it  back  into  its  place. 

*'Who  is  up  on  that  roof?"  Flournoy  asked  in  a 
voice  which  cracked  like  a  pistol  shot. 

*'By  gosh,  Marse  John!"  Skeeter  squalled. 
''You  mighty  nigh  skeart  de  gizzard  out  of 
me.  I  thought  a  ha'nt  was  tryin'  to  lift  dat 
door!" 

At  the  sound  of  Skeeter' s  voice  Flournoy 
laughed.  In  the  many  years  that  Skeeter  had 
been  his  ''pet  nigger,"  his  "favorite  insect," 
Flournoy  had  found  him  in  so  many  unexpected 
places  that  he  had  ceased  to  be  surprised. 

' '  What  are  you  doing  up  on  this  roof  ? ' '  Flournoy 
asked,  pushing  up  the  trap-door  and  looking  at 
Skeeter's  outline  in  the  dark. 

*'I  cHmbed  up  to  look  fer  fire  on  de  roof,  Marse 
John,"  Skeeter  said,  artfully  blocking  the  door 
with  his  foot  so  that  the  sheriff  could  not  easily 
raise  it  higher.  ' '  Dis  roof  is  powerful  slick,  Marse 
John.  You  better  not  climb  out.  Dar  ain't  no 
fire  up  here  nohow!" 

"Come  on  then;  let's  go  down,"  the  sheriff  an- 
swered, backing  down  the  ladder. 


The  Traid  Cat  167 

Skeeter  followed  willingly,  latching  the  trap- 
door securely  behind  him  as  he  descended. 

At  the  foot  of  the  ladder,  the  sheriff  turned  his 
flash-light  into  Skeeter 's  face. 

"Where's  your  shirt,  Skeeter?"  he  asked. 

"I  didn't  take  no  time  to  put  on  no  shirt,  Marse 
John,"  Skeeter  chuckled.  "When  I  heard  de 
kunnel's  house  wus  on  fire,  I  jes'  nachelly  aban- 
doned all  de  clothes  I  didn't  need." 

* '  That  was  right, ' '  Flournoy  approved.  ' '  You're 
a  white  nigger!" 


By  the  time  Flournoy  and  Skeeter  had  reached 
the  ground,  the  volunteer  firemen  had  grown 
weary  and  gone  home.  The  engines,  hose-wagon, 
ladder-trucks,  automobiles,  all  had  gone  home. 

"I'll  leave  you  here  for  the  rest  of  the  night, 
Skeeter,"  Flournoy  remarked  as  he  turned  his 
flash  upon  his  watch  to  see  the  time.  "I  think 
Vinegar  Atts  must  have  delirium  tremens,  or 
something  like  that." 

"He  didn't  git  'em  at  de  Hen-Scratch,  Marse 
John,"  Skeeter  said  earnestly.  "He  buys  all  his 
drinks  on  credick,  an'  I  holds  him  down  till  he's 
mighty  nigh  teetotal  prohibitionist." 

"You  mean  that  you  are  the  prohibitionist  and 
he  is  of  necessity  the  almost  total  abstainer." 


168  The  FraidCat 

"Yes,  suh,  it's  jes'  as  much  dat  way  as  it  is  de 
way  I  said  it." 

Half  an  hour  later  Skeeter  sneaked  up  the  steps, 
unlatched  the  trap-door,  and  pushed  it  open. 
Seven  negroes  were  standing  with  anxious  faces 
at  the  opening,  and  they  welcomed  Skeeter  with 
exclamations  of  thanksgiving  which  sounded  like 
a  Shoofiy  prayer  and  praise  service. 

One  by  one  they  climbed  down  the  ladder,  then 
marched  in  single  file  to  the  kitchen. 

Skeeter  switched  on  the  electric  light,  and  the 
eight  idiots  stood  about  in  dejected  attitudes, 
sleepy,  winking  at  the  light,  worn  with  excitement 
and  fatigue,  depressed  by  their  frightful  experi- 
ences. 

Pap  Curtain  was  a  man  of  age  and  discretion; 
he  had  had  various  legal  experiences  which  had 
put  a  special  emphasis  for  him  upon  the  motto: 
"Safety  First." 

He  looked  his  seven  companions  in  evil  over 
very  searchingly,  then  turned  to  them  with  these 
words : 

"You  niggers  cross  yo'  heart  an'  body!" 

They  made  the  sign. 

"Repeat  dese  here  words  atter  me,"  Pap  snarled. 
Then  the  words  came  in  short  phrases,  easy  to  re- 
peat: "I  solemnly  swears  on  de  Bible  an'  all  de 
opossums  dat  I  won't  say  nothin'  about  de  doin's 
of  dis  night,  now  an'  ferever,  amen.  An'  ef  I  does, 
I  hopes  I  may  die!" 


The  'Fraid  Cat  169 

**An*  ef  anybody  blabs,  I'll  be  de  nigger  dat'll 
cause  yo'  onhappy  end ! "  Pap  warned  them  menac- 
ingly. 

"Suppose  de  white  folks  ax  questions?"  Little 
Bit  inquired. 

"Dat's  easy,"  Pap  replied  with  a  sneering  grin. 
''Tell  everybody  dat  axes  you  dat  all  us  niggers 
thinks  Marse  Tom  Gaitskill  ole  house  is  ha'nted. 
Dat'll  be  aplenty  to  say  to  white  folks." 

Dazzle  Zenor  walked  over  and  put  her  arms 
around  Skeeter  Butts. 

"You  is  a  brave  cuUud  man,  Skeeter,"  she  told 
him.     "I  loves  you." 

Skeeter  disengaged  her  arms  and  pushed  her 
away. 

"Wus  you  lyin'  to  me  when  you  telerphomed 
dat  robbers  wus  in  dis  house?"  he  asked. 

"Naw,  suh,  I  wus  jokin*.  I  wanted  to  see  wus 
you  brave  enough  to  come  an*  rescue  me — an' 
you  wus,  Skeeter,  an'  I  loves  you  mo'  dan  ever." 

But  Skeeter  evaded  her  outstretched  arms  as 
she  advanced  again  for  a  clinch,  and  with  a  con- 
temptuous wave  of  his  yellow  hand  he  delivered 
this  good-night  message : 

"Git  away!  You  done  made  me  bum  up  a 
shirt  an'  waste  a  good  night's  sleep.  Dat's  plum' 
plenty  f er  you !     I'm  always  a  brave  nigger ! ' ' 

Then  eight  negroes  uttered  a  low  moan  of  fright. 
The  electric  light  had  gone  out,  leaving  them  in 
darkness  in  that  haunted  house ! 


I70  The  'Fraid  Cat 

The  electric  lights  went  out  every  night  at  one 
o'clock,  but  they  didn't  think  of  that. 

Eight  negroes  left  that  kitchen  in  a  hurry.  They 
sped  away  in  eight  different  directions,  at  various 
speeds,  each  according  to  his  capability.  But 
everyone  did  his  best,  each  chased  by  a  ''ha'nt" — 
for  thus  doth  conscience  make  cowards  of  us  all 


The  Consolation  Prize 


THE  CLOUD   ON  THE  HORIZON 

"Skeeter,  kin  you  rickoleck  in  your  mind  about 
a  nigger  man  who  called  hisse'f  Wash  Jones?" 

"Suttinly,"  Skeeter  answered.  "He  snuck  in 
here  about  a  year  ago  an'  tried  to  refawm  Tickfall 
cullud  sawciety.  Us  made  him  Fust  Grand  Or- 
ganizer of  de  Nights  of  Darkness  Lodge  fer  de 
whole  worl'  an'  sont  him  out  of  town  on  his  fust 
gran'  organize.    Ain't  seed  him  since  dat  time." 

**He's  done  snuck  in  agin,"  Figger  informed  him. 
"He's  all  here — de  same  flossy  vest  an'  de  same 
big  watch-chain  'thout  no  watch  to  it,  an  'de  same 
mouthful  of  chawin'  terbacker.  But  his  mouth  is 
done  changed." 

"Whut  done  happened  to  his  mouth?" 

"He's  growed  two  long  mustaches  whut  comes 
down  de  sides  of  his  nose  plum'  below  his  chin.  He 
looks  like  a  nigger  whut  had  swallowed  two  cat- 
squirrels  an'  lef  deir  tails  hangin'  out!" 

"Whut  you  reckin  he  done  dat  fer?"  Skeeter 
asked. 

171 


172         The  Consolation  Prize 

**Done  disguised  hisse'f." 

'*He  ain't  refawmin'  nothin',  is  he?"  Skeeter 
asked  uneasily. 

"Naw,  suh.  He's  organizin'.  He  done  thro  wed 
up  his  Nights  of  Darkness  Lodge  job  an'  is  corn- 
ductin'  health  resorts  fer  cullud  pussons." 

"Dar  ain't  no  sick  niggers  in  Tickfall,"  Skeeter 
said  with  relief.  "He's  done  busted  in  bizziness 
an'  don't  know  it." 

"Dar  ain't  no  real  sick  niggers,"  Figger  agreed. 
*'But  plenty  of  us  feels  jes'  tol'able  an'  b'lieves 
dat  we  needs  a  rest." 

"Restin'  time  an'  Sunday  comes  nachel  wid 
niggers,"  Skeeter  grinned.  "You  ain't  sweeped 
out  dis  saloon  fer  about  six  mont's." 

"Cain't  sweep  her  out  now,  Skeeter,"  Figger 
replied  hastily.  "Fer  a  fack,  I  done  come  to  ax 
you  fer  a  lay-off  fer  about  two  weeks.  I  needs  a 
change." 

"Wharabouts  you  gwine  change  to?"  Skeeter 
asked  grouchily. 

"Out  to  de  ole  tabernacle  an'  de  prize-fight, 
picnic,  baseball-groun's,  whar  Brudder  Wash  is 
organizin'  his  health  resort." 

"How  come  I  ain't  heerd  tell  'bout  dat?" 
Skeeter  asked. 

"He's  been  keepin'  it  sly  because  he  wus  skeart 
somebody  else  would  think  it  up  an'  beat  him  to 
it,"  Figger  explained.  "He  done  leased  de  c^e 
camp-groun's  complete,  fixed  up  all  de  little  shacks 


The  Consolation  Prize         173 

whar  niggers  kin  stay,  hired  Shin  Bone  to  run  de 
resteraw,  made  a  dancin '-floor  in  de  ole  tabernacle, 
rented  a  brass  band,  an'  is  gittin'  ready  to  rake  in 
de  dollars." 

**My  Lawd!"  Skeeter  exclaimed  in  dismay. 
"I  been  livin'  in  dis  town  all  my  days  an'  I  never 
thunk  of  dat  gorgeous  idear  in  my  whole  life." 

**It  shore  is  a  dandy  notion,"  Figger  said  with 
admiration.  * 'Bar's  fo'  springs  of  water,  a  great 
big  lake  to  fish  an'  swim  in,  plenty  woods  an'  play- 
groun's." 

**Gosh!  Jes'  think  of  de  money  dat's  gwine 
miss  my  pants'  pocket,"  Skeeter  sighed. 

"Wash  specifies  dat  dar  is  a  Cooney  Island  in 
New  Yawk  an'  he's  gwine  hab  a  Coon  Island  in 
Tickfall." 

"Dat  shore  is  put  somepin  over  on  me,"  Skeeter 
mourned. 

"Ef  you  ain't  got  no  real  good  objections,  I  goes 
out  dar  to-night  an'  stays  a  week,"  Figger 
remarked. 

"I  don't  like  de  notion  of  keepin'  dis  saloon 
while  you  gallivants  off  to  a  nigger  frolic,"  Skeeter 
protested. 

"But  I  gotter  go,"  Figger  assured  him. 

"Nobody  ain't  gotter  go  no  place  onless  he 
wants  to,  excusin'  jail,"  Skeeter  grumbled. 

Figger  Bush  ended  the  argument  by  rising  from 
the  table,  knocking  the  ashes  from  his  pipe,  and 
retiring  to  a  little  room  in  the  rear  of  the  bar  to 


174        The  Consolation  Prize 

dress.  Ten  minutes  later  he  came  out  with  a  new 
suit  of  clothes,  a  sunburst  tie,  a  high  collar  and 
most  expansive  cuffs,  and  all  the  other  parapher- 
nalia of  a  dead-game  sport  out  for  a  vacation. 

* '  I  hates  to  leave  you,  Skeeter, ' '  Figger  remarked 
apologetically.  "I's  sorry  you  is  got  a  grouch. 
But  ef  I  don't  show  up  at  de  tabernacle  my  grand- 
paw  won't  like  it." 

"How  come  you  is  so  suddent  oneasy  about  dis- 
pleasin'  Popsy  Spout?"  Skeeter  wanted  to  know. 

"Dat  ole  man  is  got  money  in  de  bank.  Some 
day  he's  gwine  haul  off  an'  die.  When  he  do,  he'll 
inherit  me  his  house  an'  all  his  cash  spondulix. 
Atter  dat  happens,  I'll  buy  one-half  of  dis  Hen- 
Scratch  saloon." 

*  *  Dat  ole  gizzard  says  he's  gwine  live  till  he's  one 
hundred  year  ole,"  Skeeter  reminded  him. 

*'Dat  means  you  got  to  wait  thirty  year  fer  yo' 
money." 

*'Mebbe  he's  done  miscalculated  'bout  how 
long  he's  gwine  hang  on  de  bush,"  Figger  grinned. 
' '  I  been  pussuadin'  him  to  take  a  little  swim  in  de 
Cooley  Lake  eve'y  atternoon  when  we  gits  out  dar, 
an'  you  know  dar's  allergaters  in  dat  lake  whut 
kin  swaller  Joner  an'  de  whale." 

"Ef  a  allergater  swallered  Popsy,  he'd  treat  him 
jes'  like  de  whale  done  Joner — he'd  git  dat  nigger 
off  his  stomick  as  soon  as  he  could,"  Skeeter 
growled. 

" 'Tain't  so,  Skeeter,"  Figger  argued  earnestly. 


The  Consolation  Prize,        i75 

''When  one  of  dese  here  Loozanny  allergaters 
swallers  a  nigger,  he  crawls  out  on  a  mud-bank  an' 
goes  to  sleep  an'  fergits  all  about  dat  cullud  pusson 
in  his  midst." 

"Ef  I  could  git  my  wish,  I'd  be  glad  if  one  dem 
things  would  chaw  up  you  an'  Popsy,  too,"  Skeeter 
retorted. 

Figger  sat  down  and  lighted  a  cigarette,  won- 
dering how  he  could  placate  Skeeter  for  leaving 
him  alone  with  the  saloon.  He  could  think  of 
nothing  else  to  say,  so  he  changed  the  theme  a 
little: 

"Whut  bothers  my  mind  a  little,  Skeeter,  is  de 
fack  dat  Popsy  ain't  got  no  real  good  notion  whut 
kind  of  doin's  will  be  at  de  tabernacle.  He  re- 
members how  'twus  befo'  de  war  when  de  white 
folks  helt  religium-meetin's  out  dar.  He  wants 
me  to  go  an'  attend  de  religium  services  so  me  an' 
Scootie  will  git  gooder  dan  we  are." 

Skeeter  brightened  up  and  laughed. 

*'Dat  means  de  joke  is  on  you  an'  Scootie,  Fig- 
ger," he  guffawed.  ''I'd  druther  hab  de  seben- 
year  itch  wid  nothin'  to  scratch  wid — I'd  druther 
be  a  drag-log  tied  to  a  houn*-dawg — dan  listen  to 
dat  ole  Popsy  fussin'  'bout  how  good  things  useter 
wus  an'  how  much  wusser  things  is  now.  Go  to  it, 
Figger!  You  got  my  permission  fer  a  week's 
leave-off." 

"I  been  tellin'  you  I  warn't  so  awful  anxious  to 
go,"  Figger  reminded  him. 


176        The  Consolation  Prize 

**You  ain*t  'pressed  dat  fack  on  my  mind  very 
hard,  Skeeter  replied.  "I  wants  you  to  come  in 
eve'y  mawnin*  an'  barkeep.  You  kin  go  out  an* 
enjoy  Popsy  at  night." 

"Ill  be  in  to-morrer  mawnin'  early,"  Figger 
answered,  as  he  left. 

But  Figger  did  not  appear  in  the  saloon  until 
the  next  day  at  noon.  Skeeter  had  spent  the  time 
thinking  up  some  especially  cutting  things  to  say 
to  his  partner,  but  Figger  entered  the  place  like  a 
personified  calamity  and  Skeeter  forgot  all  his  un- 
kind words  in  an  intense  curiosity  to  know  what 
had  happened. 

''I  done  run  up  on  somepin  awful  bad,  Skeeter," 
Figger  groaned.  "Pap  Curtain  is  fixin'  to  start  a 
saloon." 

"My  Lawd!"  Skeeter  exclaimed.  "De  Hen- 
Scratch  has  been  de  onliest  cullud  saloon  in  Tick- 
fall  fer  twenty  year.  Now  dis  here  Pap  Curtain 
is  aimin'  to  rival  us  out  of  bizzness." 

"Dat's  de  way  de  rabbit  p'ints  his  nose,"  Figger 
assured  him. 

"Whar  do  he  git  de  money?"  Skeeter  asked. 

"He's  makin'  arrangements  to  marrify  it,"  Fig- 
ger wailed.  * '  Dar's  a  great  big  ole  cow  of  a  woman 
out  dar  whut  owns  five  hundred  dollars.  Her 
paw  an'  maw  is  talkin'  it  aroun'  an'  dey's  huntin' 
somebody  dat'll  marry  her  fer  her  money." 

"Is  she  as  bad  lookin'  as  all  dat?" 

"Shore  is.     She  looks  like  a  puddin'  dat  riz  too 


The  Consolation  Prize         177 

high  an'  spreads  out  too  much.  She  kinder  comes 
out  en  her  clothes  an'  rolls  over  de  edges  of  a  chair 
an'  de  big  of  her  'pears  like  it's  boilin'  over  all  de 
sides  all  de  time." 

'*I  ketch  on,"  Skeeter  grinned.  "She  jes'  out- 
niggers  herse'f  by  bein'  so  fat." 

'Tap'll  take  her  ef  he  kin  git  her,"  Figger 
sighed.  "He  ain't  pertickler.  He  wants  money 
to  start  a  saloon." 

"Us'll  bofe  close  up  dis  saloon  to-night  an'  go 
out  an'  take  a  look  on, ' '  Skeeter  announced.  ' '  Dis 
town  kin  do  without  two  nigger  saloons.  One 
is  a  plum'  plenty.  Who  is  dis  here  nigger  woman 
anyhow?" 

"She's  ole  Isaiah  Gaitskill's  stepchile,"  Figger 
informed  him.  "She  takes  atter  her  maw  in  fat- 
hood.  She's  a  widder  woman  an'  her  deceasted 
husbunt  left  her  a  lot  of  insurance  dollars." 

"Gosh!"  Skeeter  sighed  in  desperation.  "Pap 
Curtain  an'  a  widder  woman!  Two  ag'in'  one — I 
ain't  got  no  show.  Life  ain't  fitten  to  live  no  more. ' ' 

II 

PLEASURE  AND  PROFIT 

In  the  evening  Skeeter  Butts  followed  Figger 
out  to  the  old  tabernacle  grounds  and  was  amazed 
at  the  transformation  of  the  place. 

Wash  Jones  had  moved  many  of  the  benches  out 


178         The  Consolation  Prize 

of  the  building  and  had  placed  them  under  trees 
and  in  the  groves.  He  had  made  sawdust  trails 
from  the  tabernacle  to  the  edge  of  the  lake,  to  the 
Shin  Bone  eating-house,  and  to  all  other  places 
where  a  little  money  could  be  coaxed  from  the 
pocket  of  the  pleasure-seeker. 

He  had  made  a  dancing-floor  in  a  part  of  the 
tabernacle,  arranging  seats  around  it  for  the  sight- 
seers. He  had  erected  refreshment-booths  in  other 
portions  of  the  building,  and  also  a  band-stand, 
where  the  sweating,  hard- worked  black  Tickfall 
brass  band  was  having  the  most  hilarious  time  of 
their  lives. 

Negroes  had  come  in  from  the  plantations  for 
miles  around.  Horses  were  tied  to  all  the  trees, 
wagons  and  buggies  were  sheltered  in  the  woods, 
and  a  great  mob  of  folks  moved  up  and  down  the 
sawdust  avenues  or  tramped  the  woods,  shouting, 
laughing,  cutting  monkey-shines,  and  eating  pop- 
corn balls,  hot  dogs,  and  sandwiches  made  of  fried 
catfish. 

It  was  a  noisy,  boisterous,  rollicking  place  which 
Skeeter  entered. 

Ordinarily  Skeeter  would  have  been  the  center 
of  the  v/hole  thing.  But  this  affair  had  slipped 
up  on  him  and  had  suddenly  developed  business 
complications  and  his  mind  was  too  occupied 
with  his  troubles  to  enjoy  the  fun  going  on  around 
him. 

Soon  after  entering  the  grotmds  he  found  Pap 


The  Consolation  Prize         i79 

Curtain.  Pap  was  entertaining  himself  by  pay- 
ing five  cents  for  three  baseballs.  He  would  then 
try  to  throw  each  ball  so  it  would  stay  in  a  bucket 
about  twenty  feet  away.  Whenever  he  placed  one 
to  stay,  the  proprietor  of  the  amusement  feature 
would  give  Pap  a  cigar.  The  cigars  sold  three  for 
a  nickel  in  Tickfall  and  as  Pap  never  succeeded 
in  placing  more  than  two  balls  in  the  bucket,  the 
proprietor  of  the  place  always  made  a  fair  profit 
in  the  transaction.  Pap  had  his  pocket  stuffed 
full  of  cheap  cigars  and  promptly  offered  a  handful 
to  Skeeter. 

**I  don't  smoke  garbage,"  Skeeter  said  im- 
patiently, waving  aside  the  offer. 

**I  figger  I  done  acquired  enough  of  dese  cab- 
bage-leaves. Less  move  on  an'  git  some  fun  some- 
where else." 

A  short  distance  down  the  sawdust  trail  they 
ran  into  something  new.  The  diminutive  darky 
named  Little  Bit  was  standing  on  a  frail  platform 
erected  over  a  hogshead  full  of  water.  There  was 
a  trigger  shaped  like  a  skiff-paddle  about  fifty  feet 
away,  and  men  were  throwing  baseballs  at  this 
paddle.  If  someone  hit  the  trigger,  the  platform, 
on  which  Little  Bit  was  standing,  fell  and  ducked 
the  diminutive  darky  in  the  hogshead  of  water. 
Little  Bit  was  well  known  in  Tickfall  and  this 
particular  attraction  was  a  riot.  Sometimes  thirty 
baseballs  would  be  flying  toward  that  paddle- 
shaped  trigger  at  one  time,  and  the  hapless  Little 


i8o        The  Consolation  Prize 

Bit  spent  more  time  in  the  hogshead  of  water  than 
he  did  on  the  platform. 

"Lawd,  Skeeter!"  Pap  exclaimed  when  he  had 
laughed  himself  nearly  to  exhaustion.  "I'd 
druther  be  de  owner  of  dis  Coon  Island  dan  de' 
pres'dunt  of  de  Europe  war.  I  feels  like  I's  jes* 
nachelly  cut  out  fer  a  job  like  dis.  I  been  huntin' 
fer  somepin  I  been  fit  ten  fer  all  my  life  an' 
dis  am  it.** 

"I  wish  you  had  dis  job,  Pap,'*  Skeeter  replied. 
"I  stopped  by  to  ax  you  a  question." 

**ril  answer  yes  or  no,  like  de  gram  jury  always 
tells  me  to  do,"  Pap  grinned. 

"Word  is  done  been  sont  to  me  dat  you  is  fixin' 
to  start  a  saloon.     Is  dat  so?'* 

"Yep." 

"Whar  you  gwine  git  de  money  at?" 

"A  fat  widder  woman's  husbunt  is  kicked  de 
bucket  an'  lef  her  a  wad  of  dough,"  Pap  chuckled. 
"I's  gwine  marrify  de  widder,  mix  dat  dough 
wid  my  brains  an'  start  me  a  place  of  bizzness." 

"I  thought  you  wus  done  through  wid  marrin' 
womens,"  Skeeter  wailed.  "You  done  been 
kotched  fo'  times  already." 

"  Yas,  suh,  but  in  all  dem  fo'  times  I  never  mar- 
ried no  widder.  My  edgycation  is  been  neglected. 
Dey  wus  all  young  an'  foolish  gals.  Dis  here  is  a 
sottled  woman — so  dang  fat  dat  when  she  sottles 
down  it  takes  a  block  an'  tackle  to  h'ist  her 
agin." 


The  Consolation  Prize         i8i 

**Aw,  shuckins!"  Skeeter  exclaimed.  **Whut 
you  marryin'  dat  kind  of  gal  fer?" 

''Fer  five  hundred  dollars!"  Pap  said. 

Skeeter  turned  away  with  a  troubled  face.  Pap 
looked  after  him  a  moment,  then  purchased  three 
more  baseballs  to  throw  at  the  trigger-paddle. 

At  the  far  end  of  the  grounds,  Skeeter  found 
Wash  Jones. 

"Wash,"  he  said  after  a  little  conversation,  **I 
understands  dat  you  is  got  a  prize  widder  in  dis 
show." 

The  big  black  eyed  Skeeter  for  a  moment  with 
suspicion.  He  took  the  time  to  help  himself  to  a 
big  chew  of  tobacco  before  he  answered,  watching 
Skeeter  covertly  all  the  time.     At  last  he  said : 

"I  ain't  heerd  tell  about  dat.  But  I  ain't  sup- 
prized  none.  I  got  all  de  attrackshuns  on  dis 
Coon  Island  whut  is.'* 

'*Dey  tells  me  dis  widder  is  got  a  dead  husbunt 
an'  five  hundred  dollars,"  Skeeter  continued. 

Wash  dropped  his  plug  of  tobacco  and  stooped 
to  pick  it  up.  That  Skeeter  had  this  information 
was  not  a  surprise  to  him ;  it  was  a  shock. 

"Who  mought  dat  widder  be?"  Wash  asked. 

"Sister  Solly  Skaggs,"  Skeeter  informed  him. 

*  *  I  knows  her, ' '  Wash  groaned.  * '  Fat — O  Lawd ! 
Ef  dat  gal  wuster  drap  dead,  dey'd  hab  to  git  a 
mud-scow  outen  de  river  fer  a  coffin,  an'  de  only 
hole  in  de  groun'  big  enough  to  put  her  in  is  Marse 
Tom's  sand  pit.     Dat  five  hundred  dollars  don't 


1 82        The  Consolation  Prize 

int'rust  my  mind,  naw,  suh,  not  at  all,  not  at  all!*' 

"Don't  waste  no  time  thinkin'  about  it," 
Skeeter  sighed.  ' '  Pap  Curtain  is  done  spoke  f er 
it — de  fat's  in  de  fire." 

''Which?"  Wash  Jones  exclaimed  in  a  tone  that 
popped  like  a  gun.     * '  Pap  Curtain  ?  * ' 

"Pap  done  pulled  de  curtain  down  on  de  wid- 
der, ' '  Skeeter  assured  him.  ' '  Nobody  else  needn't 
look  at  her  charms." 

Wash  Jones  turned  around  three  times,  as  if 
looking  for  some  place  to  go  and  practically  unde- 
cided about  what  direction  to  choose. 

Skeeter  wandered  on  disconsolately  and  finally 
found  himself  beside  the  old  tabernacle.  An  aged 
man  approached  him.  Skeeter  looked  for  a  place 
to  escape,  but  found  no  avenue  of  exit  and  stood 
his  ground.     The  venerable  man  was  Popsy  Spout. 

"I  don't  ketch  on  'bout  dis,  Skeeter,"  he  said  in 
the  high,  shrill  complaining  voice  of  senility.  "Dis 
here  ain't  de  place  whut  I  thought  it  wus.  'Tain't 
de  same  place  whut  it  uster  be  befo'  an'  endurin' 
of  de  war.    When  do  de  religium  exoncises  begin  ? " 

"I  dunno,"  Skeeter  answered.  "Ax  Wash 
Jones." 

"I  axed  him.  Wash  said  ef  de  people  wanted 
religium  doin's  dey  could  start  'em  deyselfs," 
Popsy  whined.  ' '  Wash  said  he  wus  jes'  de  servunt 
of  de  people  fer  so  much  money  per  each  people." 

"Dat's  right,"  Skeeter  laughed. 

"I  thought  dey  wus  gwine  hab  preachin'  in  dat 


The  Consolation  Prize         183 

ole  tabernacle  to-night, ' '  Pap  complained.  * '  Instid 
of  dat,  dey's  gwine  had  a  dance  fer  a  prize!  Yas, 
suh — whut  do  Gawd  think  of  dat?  A  dance  fer 
a  prize?" 

*'I  hopes  dat  Pap  Curtain  slips  up  an'  breaks 
bofe  behime  legs,"  Skeeter  remarked  bitterly. 

"  'Tain't  no  use  hopin',"  the  old  man  chuckled. 
**Pap  is  like  me — spry  on  his  legs  fer  a  ole  man. 
But  Pap  an'  me  don't  favor  dancin'.  We  been 
talkin'  it  over.  I  deespise  a  nigger  dat  dances. 
Ef  any  of  my  kin-folks  cuts  a  shuffle  on  dat  flo'  dis 
night,  dey  ain't  no  kinnery  of  mine  no  more." 

*'I  'speck  I  better  go  gib  Figger  a  warnin'  right 
now,"  Skeeter  exclaimed  eagerly,  glad  to  find  a 
reason  for  departure. 

''Dat's  right!"  Popsy  exclaimed,  in  his  high, 
cracked  falsetto.     '  *  You  warn  him  good ! ' ' 

Skeeter  wandered  down  to  the  shore  of  the  little 
lake  and  sat  down  alone  to  think  out  some  method 
of  defeating  Pap's  designs.  After  an  hour  Figger 
Bush  found  him  by  the  glow  of  his  cigarette,  and 
came  and  sat  beside  him. 

*'De  only  way  to  bust  Pap's  plans,  Figger,  is  to 
marry  dat  fat  Solly  Skaggs  to  somebody  else." 

"Who'll  take  her?"  Figger  inquired. 

"It'll  hab  to  be  somebody  dat  ain't  married 
already,"  Skeeter  said. 

"  You's  de  only  onmarried  man  I  knows,  excusin' 
Pap,"  Figger  giggled.  "I  guess  you'll  hab  to 
make  de  riffle." 


1 84         The  Consolation  Prize 

Skeeter  considered  this  a  moment  in  silence. 
Then  he  asked : 

*'Is  she  so  awful  fat  as  people  says  she  is?" 

"Ain't  you  never  seed  her?"  Figger  exclaimed. 
"Honey,  de  half  ain't  never  yit  been  told!  She's 
been  reg'lar  to  her  meals  ever  since  she  wus  borned, 
an'  her  meals  is  been  frequent  an'  copious,  an'  her 
vittles  is  agreed  wid  her  too  well!  Come  on, 
Skeeter,  lemme  inter  juice  you  to  yo'  future  wife!" 

Figger  rose  to  his  feet  with  eagerness.  Skeeter 
shook  his  head  and  sighed. 

"I  wouldn't  choose  any,  Figger.  I'd  druther 
Pap  Curtain  would  rival  me  out  of  bizzness." 

' '  Mebbe  we  could  wish  her  onto  somebody  else," 
Figger  proposed. 

'  *  I  been  tryin'  to  think  up  some  onmarried  man," 
Skeeter  told  him,  "but  I  don't  see  none  in  sight." 

They  smoked  for  an  hour  longer  without  produc- 
ing a  spark  of  an  idea.     At  last  Skeeter  said : 

"All  I  kin  do  jes'  now,  Figger,  is  to  keep  Pap 
away  from  dat  gal  ontil  I  finds  a  fitten  secont  hus- 
bunt  fer  her.  Dar's  gwine  be  a  prize  dance  to- 
night an'  I  nominates  you  to  dance  wid  Sister 
Solly  Skaggs." 

"Ef  she  trods  on  me  I'll  be  a  squashed  worm  of 
de  dust,"  Figger  wailed. 

"Don't  talk  back,"  Skeeter  replied  sharply. 
"I'll  fix  it  so  you  an'  Sister  Solly  win  de  prize." 


The  Consolation  Prize         185 
III 

**DAT  FAT,   FLOUNDERIN'   FOOL" 

Mrs.  Solly  Skaggs  was  a  widow  of  the  sod  variety 
and  had  enjoyed  her  matrimonial  release  for  about 
six  months.  She  had  not  mourned  too  much  for 
Solly  nor  had  she  loved  him  much.  For  he  was 
about  as  lovable  as  a  sick  dog  and  his  departure 
from  the  world  was  a  distinct  blessing  to  all  the 
inhabitants  thereof. 

Old  Isaiah  Gait  skill,  in  discussing  her  chances 
for  matrimony  again,  assured  her  that  no  negro 
would  marry  her  because  she  was  too  fat.  But 
this  did  not  discourage  the  lady  and  there  was  no 
indication  of  despair  either  in  her  manner  or  her 
deportment,  for  she  dressed  and  acted  like  a  miss 
of  sweet  sixteen. 

Old  Popsy  Spout  stood  on  the  edge  of  the  throng 
and  watched  her  elephantine  performances  on  the 
dancing-floor.  Growing  weary,  he  walked  over 
and  sat  down  upon  a  bench  beside  Pap  Curtain. 

"Look  at  dat  fool  nigger  gal,  Pap,"  he  whined. 
*'I  been  livin'  off  and  on  nigh  onto  one  hundred 
year  an'  I  done  seen  plenty  sights,  but  dat  fat 
fool  flounderin'  on  dat  floor  is  de  wust  sight  till 
yit." 

"Don't  preach  so  loud,  Popsy,"  Pap  said  with 
a  warning  hiss.  "You  mought  hurt  dat  cullud 
lady's  feelin's." 


1 86         The  Consolation  Prize 

**I  ain't  preachin',"  Popsy  snapped.  "I's  tellin' 
facks.  Excusin'  dat,  she  ain't  got  no  feelin's.  Her 
feelin's  is  padded  two-foot  deep  in  fat.  I  bet  she's 
got  some  age  on  her,  too." 

*'Not  too  much  age  fer  a  widder,"  Pap  said. 
**An'  she's  wuth  consid'able  money  since  her  fust 
husbunt  up  an'  died  on  her.  Five  hundred  dollars 
will  keep  dat  woman  fat  fer  a  long  time." 

"Why  don't  you  git  in  de  race,  Pap?"  Popsy 
suggested.     "You  ain't  got  no  wife  now." 

"Dat's  my  bizzness  right  now,"  Pap  grinned. 
"I  needs  a  little  cash  money  to  start  a  saloon." 

"You  ain't  figgerin'  to  buy  out  Figger  an* 
Skeeter  in  de  Hen-Scratch,  is  you?"  Popsy  asked. 

"Naw,  suh,  I's  fixin'  to  run  'em  out,"  Pap  said 
confidently,  as  he  arose  and  walked  away. 

Popsy  arose,  too,  pushed  his  way  through  the 
crowd  and  went  in  search  of  Figger  Bush.  He 
found  Figger  and  his  wife  and  Skeeter  Butts  in  the 
Shin  Bone  eating-house.  He  hastened  to  their 
table,  rested  his  rusty  stove-pipe  hat  upon  the  top 
of  the  table  and  sat  down. 

"How  come  you  an'  Skeeter  is  bofe  lef  yo'  bizz- 
ness to  come  out  here,  Figger?"  he  inquired. 

"Dar  ain't  no  bizzness  wid  dis  frolic  gwine  on," 
Figger  said. 

"You  better  git  to  wuckin'  up  some  new  bizz- 
ness," the  old  man  remarked.  "Pap  Curtain  is 
jes'  tole  me  he  wus  gwine  run  you-alls  out." 

"We  been  talkin'  about  dat,"  Skeeter  broke  in. 


The  Consolation  Prize         187 

**  Pap's  tryin*  to  pick  a  widder  an'  us  is  wonderin' 
how  we  kin  bump  him  off  de  job." 

**I's  gittin'  to  be  a  awful  ole  fool,"  Popsy  sighed. 
**I  jes'  dis  minute  suggested  to  Pap  dat  he  ought 
to  marry  dat  widder  an'  git  her  out  of  her  misery 
an'  her  mournin'." 

**Whut  you  mean  by  doin'  dat,  Popsy?" 
Skeeter  snapped.  "You  done  ruint  us.  I's  thinkin' 
about  firin'  Figger  now  because  our  bizzness  is 
got  so  bum  wid  prohibition  an'  all  dem  yuther 
troubles." 

* '  Mebbe  I  could  go  back  an'  tell  Pap  he  is  makin* 
a  miscue  at  his  age,"  Popsy  proposed. 

**You  better  go  do  somepin,"  Skeeter  snapped. 
**You  go  potterin'  aroun'  an'  spile  my  trade  an' 
I'll  kick  Figger  out  an'  you'll  hab  dis  here  wuth- 
less  nigger  to  suppote." 

"Not  ef  I  kin  he'p  it,"  Popsy  said  positively. 
**I'll  shore  git  busy  an'  c'reck  dat  mistake.  I 
needs  my  dollars  fer  my  own  use.  I's  fixin'  to 
spend  'em  in  my  ole  age,  when  I  gits  ole." 

At  this  moment  Wash  Jones  stepped  to  the  mid- 
dle of  the  floor,  pulled  proudly  at  one  of  his  squir- 
rel-tail mustaches,  knocked  upon  a  dining- table 
with  the  nicked  edge  of  a  thick,  granite  saucer, 
and  commanded  silence. 

"I  announces  dar  will  be  a  prize  dance  at  de 
tabernacle  to-night.  It  will  be  de  last  dance  of  de 
evenin'.  Five  cents  lets  you  into  de  tabernacle 
to  perceive  de  dancers,  ten  cents  will  gib  you  de 


1 88        The  Consolation  Prize 

right  to  dance.  At  de  end  of  de  last  dance  a  prize 
will  be  gib  away  to  de  lucky  winner.  De  show 
begins  at  ten  o'clock." 

''I's  reckin  I'll  hab  to  trod  'em  a  few,"  Sk^eter 
sighed.     * '  Got  to  do  somepin  to  ease  up  my  mind. ' ' 

'*I  don't  allow  Scootie  an'  Figger  to  dance," 
Popsy  snapped.  "  'Tain't  decent  an'  religium  to 
cut  monkey-shines  like  dat  at  a  camp-meetin'. 
Married  folks  oughter  sottle  down  an'  behave." 

"I  agree  wid  you,"  Skeeter  grinned,  winking 
at  Figger  Bush.  ''Bofe  of  'em  is  gittin'  too  ole 
an'  stiff  to  dance  an'  Figger  never  wus  no  account 
dancer  nohow.  As  fer  Scootie,  she  dances  like  one 
dese  here  Teddy  bears." 

*'  'Tain't  so,"  Scootie  snapped.  "You  gimme  a 
couple  dances  wid  you  to-night  an'  I'll  show  you — 
ouchr' 

Figger  kicked  Scootie  under  the  table  and 
pounded  on  the  top  of  the  table  with  his  fist  to 
drown  her  voice,  looking  fearfully  the  while  at 
Popsy  Spout  to  see  if  he  was  listening  to  her  re- 
marks. 

"Shut  up!"  he  hissed.  *'Whut  you  want  to  be 
such  a  splatter-jaw  fer  ?  Watch  whut  you's  sayin' ! ' ' 

Scootie  cast  a  frightened  look  at  Popsy,  but  the 
old  man  showed  by  his  next  question  that  he  had 
not  noticed  her  break. 

"Whut  kind  prizes  does  dey  gib  fer  de  dance, 
Skeeter?" 

"Nobody  ain't  know  but  Wash  Jones,"  Skeeter 


The  Consolation  Prize         189 

informed  him.  '*Dis  is  de  fust  night  of  de  show 
an'  no  prizes  ain't  git  bestowed  yit." 

**  'Twon't  be  nothin'  but  a  pack  of  chawgum  fer 
de  lady  an'  a  box  of  cigareets  fer  de  man,"  Figger 
said  disgustedly.  ''Wash  Jones  ain't  gwine  gib 
nothin'  away.  I  think  I'll  cut  out  de  dance  an' 
go  to  bed." 

"Me,  too,"  Popsy  whined.  "I  got  a  little  bed 
out  here  in  one  of  dese  shacks  ef  I  could  find  it.'* 

"It's  down  by  de  lake,  Popsy,"  Figger  told  him, 
glad  that  Popsy  was  leaving  them.  "You  won't 
hab  no  trouble  gittin'  dar." 

As  soon  as  Popsy  had  departed,  Scootie  turned 
to  Figger  and  snapped : 

"You  mighty  nigh  kicked  my  leg  off  an'  ole 
Popsy  didn't  pay  no  mind  to  whut  I  wus  sayin' 
at  all." 

"Stop  talkin'  'bout  dancin'  whar  Popsy  is," 
Figger  growled.  "Dat  ole  man  will  git  mad  an' 
gib  all  his  money  to  furin  missionaries  when  he 
dies." 

"You's  makin'  yo'se'f  tired  fer  nothin',  Figger," 
Skeeter  giggled.  "Popsy  will  find  out  about  yo' 
dancin'  powerful  soon." 

"How  soon?"  Figger  asked. 

"As  soon  as  you  an'  Sister  Skaggs  wins  dem 
prizes  to-night." 

"I  ain't  gwine  win  no  prize.  Dar  cain't  be  no 
prize-dancin'  wid  dat  fat  ole  cow.  De  judges 
would  laugh  at  us." 


190         The  Consolation  Prize 

**ril  fix  de  judges,"  Skeeter  laughed.  **Leave 
it  wid  me  an'  Wash  Jones." 

"You  ain't  fixin'  to  buy  up  de  judges,  is  you?" 
Figger  asked. 

**Naw.  I's  fixin'  to  buy  Wash  Jones.  'Twon*t 
cost  much.    Wash  is  a  cheap  nigger." 

IV 

THE  JOYOUS  TROUBLE-MAKERS 

Wash  Jones  was  standing  behind  the  tabernacle, 
mopping  the  copious  perspiration  that  streamed 
from  his  baboon  face. 

**I  finds  dis  here  bizzness  a  heap  more  wuck  dan 
I  bargained  fer,"  he  complained  to  Skeeter  Butts. 
''When  I  fust  started  out  I  thought  dat  niggers 
would  jes'  entertain  deyselfs  an'  not  expeck  nothin* 
from  me  but  de  pleasure  of  my  comp'ny.  But  I 
finds  dat  dey  expecks  me  to  be  on  de  job  of  waitin* 
on  'em  all  de  time." 

"Suttinly,"  Skeeter  snickered.  ''Ef  I  charged 
admissions  to  my  saloon  I  wouldn't  allow  no  nig- 
gers to  wait  on  demselfs.     I'd  hab  to  serve  'em." 

''I  done  collected  all  de  admission-fares  I  ex- 
pecks  to  git,"  Wash  sighed,  fanning  himself  with 
his  big  hat.  '*As  fer  as  I'm  concerned,  dis  here 
show  kin  end  right  now." 

"Ef  you  end  her  up  now  de  people  will  kick 
an'  want  deir  money  back,"   Skeeter  reminded 


The  Consolation  Prize         191 

him.  **You  done  collected  up  fer  a  week  in 
eegsvance." 

"Vd  be  powerful  glad  to  turn  de  job  over  to 
some  yuther  feller  fer  whut  he  kin  make  out  of  it, 
ef  I  had  a  good  excuse  fer  hittin'  de  grit  out  of 
here,"  Wash  suggested. 

**I  ain't  candidatin*  fer  de  place,"  Skeeter 
chuckled.  "But  I  kin  show  you  how  you  kin 
make  a  few  more  easy  dollars  ef  you  ain*t  keer  too 
much  how  you  got  'em." 

"Spill  de  beans  right  here,  Skeeter,"  Wash  an- 
swered earnestly.     "Dat  sounds  good  to  me." 

"My  trouble  am  dis,"  Skeeter  began.  "You 
is  givin'  a  prize-dance  to-night  an'  I  wants  to  pick 
de  winner." 

"I'll  app'int  you  one  of  de  judges  fer  one  dol- 
lar," Wash  said  promptly. 

"Dat  won't  he'p  none,"  Skeeter  said.  "Dat'll 
jes'  git  one  vote." 

"I'll  be  a  judge  myse'f  an'  dat'll  gib  you  two 
votes — dat  is,  ef  you  is  willin'  to  bestow  anodder 
dollar  fer  my  vote." 

"Who  will  de  yuther  judge  be?" 

"Ef  you  gib  me  anodder  dollar  I'll  let  you  name 
him  yo'se'f,"  Wash  replied  without  hesitation. 
"Pick  yo'  own  nigger  an'  trade  wid  him  pussonly 
fer  his  pussonal  vote." 

"Here's  three  dollars.  Wash,"  Skeeter  chuckled 
as  he  rattled  the  money  in  his  hand.  "You  shore 
is  a  easy  nigger  to  trade  wid." 


192         The  Consolation  Prize 

**Jes*  ile  my  machinery  aplenty  an'  1*11  run 
along  smooth,"  Wash  grinned  as  he  pocketed  the 
money.  **Who  is  de  couple  you  wants  to  win  dis 
prize-dance?" 

"Figger  Bush  an*  Sister  Solly  Skaggs." 

"Gosh!"  Wash  Jones  exploded  as  he  thrust  his 
hand  into  his  pocket,  brought  out  the  three  dollars 
and  handed  them  back  to  Skeeter.  * '  I  loves  money 
but  I  ain't  troublin'  trouble." 

*'Whut  ails  dem  plans?"  Skeeter  asked,  thrust- 
ing back  the  hand  which  offered  him  the  money. 

'*In  de  fust  place,  Sister  Solly  Skaggs  can't  win 
a  prize  in  no  kind  of  dance  whutsoever.  She  cain't 
dance  no  more  dan  a  Mefdis  meetin' -house.  In  de 
secont  place  it's  a  little  too  raw  fer  you  to  be  de 
judge  of  a  dance  an'  gib  de  prize  to  yo'  own  pardner 
in  de  saloon  bizzness." 

**I  sees  de  light,"  Skeeter  said  in  a  surprised 
tone.  **I  suttinly  did  mighty  nigh  slip  up  on  dat 
plan.  Wonder  whut  we  kin  do  to  he'p  you  earn 
dat  money  an*  still  act  honest?'* 

"Dat  question  is  'most  too  heavy  fer  my 
mind,"  Wash  said  indifferently.  "I'll  keep  dis 
three  dollars  an'  let  you  think  up  yo'  own  plan. 
Ef  it  don't  wuck,  I'll  gib  you  yo*  money  back." 

"Whut  kind  of  prizes  is  you  gwine  gib,  Wash?** 
Skeeter  asked. 

"Whutever  kind  of  prizes  you  wants  to  buy,** 
Wash  grinned.  "I  leaves  it  wid  you  to  pick  *em 
an'  pay  fer  'em.** 


The  Consolation  Prize         193 

"I  thought  you  had  'em  already  selected!" 
Skeeter  exclaimed. 

''Naw,  suh,  I  figgered  it  out  dat  some  nigger 
would  want  hisse'f  an'  his  gal  to  win  dem  prizes  so  I 
wus  waitin'  fer  him  to  bestow  a  little  money  on  me 
an'  furnish  de  prizes  outen  his  own  cash  money.*' 

*' You  shore  is  a  skillful  nigger,  Wash,"  Skeeter 
said  admiringly.  "I  oughter  run  wid  you  a  little 
while  an'  git  some  new  notions  in  my  head.  You 
knows  how  to  rob  'em  widout  gittin'  in  jail." 

''You  better  git  some  notions  in  yo'  head  'bout 
dem  prizes,"  Wash  warned  him.  *'Dat  dance  is 
star  tin'  off  pretty  soon." 

*'  'Tain't  no  trouble  to  seleck  de  prizes,"  Skeeter 
laughed.  "I'll  git  Sister  Skaggs  a  little  round 
lookin'-glass  'bout  big  enough  fer  her  to  see  her 
nose  in;  an  I'll  git  Figger  a  nickel-plated cigareet 
holder." 

''Cigareet  holders  comes  pretty  high,  don't 
dey?" 

"Yes,  suh,  but  I  don't  mind  payin'  fer  one.  I 
been  needin'  one  dem  things  fer  a  long  time  an 
I'll  make  Figger  gib  it  back  to  me." 

"Dat  shows  I  ain't  de  only  nigger  wid  notions," 
Wash  laughed.  ' '  Dat's  a  real  good  trick.  Is  you 
got  it  mapped  out  how  you  will  git  de  prize  to  dem 
two  dancers?" 

"Dat  ain't  no  trouble." 

"I  hopes  it  won't  make  no  trouble,"  Wash 
remarked. 
13 


194         The  Consolation  Prize 

*  *  Not  at  all ! "  Skeeter  assured  him.  '  *  You  will 
be  de  onliest  judge.  Write  de  names  of  each 
couple  on  a  card  an'  put  all  de  cards  in  a  bag. 
When  de  times  comes  to  gib  de  prizes,  shake  de 
bag  up,  put  in  yo'  hand  an'  fotch  out  de  card  wid 
de  names  of  de  winners." 

*'How'll  I  git  holt  of  de  card  wid  Figger's  name 
on  it  when  it's  shuck  up  in  a  bag?"  Wash  wanted 
to  know. 

*'Take  a  pin  an'  pin  Figger's  card  to  de  bottom 
of  de  bag  on  de  inside,"  Skeeter  explained.  "All 
you  got  to  do  atter  dat  is  to  reach  down  an'  onpin 
dat  card  an'  fotch  it  out." 

Wash  looked  at  Skeeter  with  the  utmost  ad- 
miration. 

**Brudder  Butts,"  he  said  earnestly,  **some 
day  I'll  take  a  notion  to  rob  a  rattlesnake  of  de 
skin  under  its  chin.  When  I  git  ready  to  doit 
I'll  plan  a  little  wid  you  an'  learn  how  to  do  it." 

"Dat  wus  easy,"  Skeeter  grinned.  "I  kin  al- 
ways think  up  plenty  good  plans  fer  de  yuther 
feller.  I  falls  down  when  I  begins  to  study  fer 
myse'f." 

"How  come  you  wants  dese  two  to  win  so  bad ? " 
Wash  asked. 

"I's  tryin'  to  break  Pap  Curtain's  nose!" 
Skeeter  exclaimed.  "He's  atter  de  fat  widder  an' 
her  easy  money.  He  aims  to  start  a  saloon,  an* 
I's  de  leader  of  de  highest  alcoholic  circles  in  dis 
town  an'  don't  need  no  competition." 


The  Consolation  Prize         195 

''Nachelly  you  is  ag'in'  dat,"  Wash  said 
promptly.  '  *  Mebbe  ef  you  could  loant  me  twenty 
dollars  I  could  think  up  some  good  plan  to  he'p 
you  out." 

Skeeter  produced  two  ten-dollar  bills. 

**  Jes'  keep  Pap  away  from  Sister  Skaggs,  Wash," 
Skeeter  said  earnestly.  *'Dat  earns  dis  money. 
I  think  Pap  is  got  a  sure  thing.  He's  de  only  on- 
married  nigger  in  Tickfall,  an'  de  widder  will  take 
anybody  she  kin  git.  She  ain't  choosy  or  she 
wouldn't  never  choose  Pap." 

*'I  makes  you  one  promise  fer  dis  twenty, 
Skeeter,"  Wash  said.  "Pap  won't  start  no  saloon 
in  Tickfall.  As  fer  marryin'  de  widder,  I  cain*t 
promise  dat  he  won't.  Not  even  Gawd  knows 
whut  kind  of  man  a  widder  is  gwine  to  marry." 


AN   UNFORESEEN   COMPETITOR 

The  one  negro  in  Tickfall  who  never  dressed  up 
was  Pap  Curtain.  He  was  the  well-digger  and  the 
grave-digger  of  that  community,  and  he  carried 
the  marks  of  his  trade  upon  him,  clay  on  his 
clothes,  on  his  hands,  on  his  hat.  But  to-night 
for  the  first  time  in  the  memory  of  men,  Pap  was 
arrayed  in  gorgeous  garments.  He  attracted  much 
attention. 

' '  Whoo-pee,  Pap ! ' '  Vinegar  Atts  bellowed.    ' '  I 


19^         The  Consolation  Prize 

cain't  make  up  my  mind  whether  you  is  a  young 
nigger  beginnin'  to  show  yo'  age,  or  a  ole  nigger 
tryin'  to  look  lesser  dan  yo'  real  age." 

"I  done  heerd  remarks  like  dat  a  plum'  plenty, 
Revun,"  Pap  snarled.  **I  admits  dat  I's  gwine  on 
seventy  odd  year  ole." 

"I  didn't  say  you  wusn't,  brudder,"  Vinegar 
said  propitiatingly.  *'But  whut  do  an  ole  nigger 
like  you  dress  up  like  you  f er  ?  Dar  ain't  no  f  un'ral 
to  go  to  an'  us  ain't  habin'  no  lodge  meetin'  to- 
night." 

"Dey's  yuther  reasons  fer  dressin'  up,"  Pap 
said  with  a  grin. 

Vinegar  slapped  his  hand  to  his  head  and  a  sud- 
den remembrance  transformed  his  countenance. 

*'I  like  to  f ergot  dat  weddin'  complete!  I  on- 
derstan'  now — you's  ragged  out  fer  de  weddin'.  I 
muss  be  gittin'  ole  an'  fergitful.  An'  I  got  some 
questions  to  ax  dat  widder  befo'  she  steps  off." 

Vinegar  hurried  away  and  Pap  stood  grinning 
after  him.  When  the  colored  clergyman  was  lost 
to  sight  in  the  crowd.  Pap  turned  away,  mumbling 
to  himself : 

**Dat  Vinegar  Atts  never  did  hab  no  sense. 
Now  he  raves  an'  rambles  when  he  talks  wid 
his  mouth.  De  Shoofiy  needs  a  new  up-to-date 
preacher." 

Pap  walked  over  to  the  tabernacle,  sought  out 
Mrs.  Solly  Skaggs,  and  bowing  with  exaggerated 
courtesy,  he  asked : 


The  Consolation  Prize         i97 

**EIin  I  dance  dis  here  prize  dance  wid  you, 
Sister  Solly?" 

A  shrill  cackle  of  laughter  rattled  in  Pap's  ear 
and  he  turned  to  look  inio  the  sardonic  face  of 
Skeeter  Butts. 

"I  done  saved  you,  Sister  Solly,*'  Skeeter 
snickered. 

' '  You  done  got  left,  Pap, ' '  Solly  remarked.  '  *  I's 
dancin'  fer  de  prize  wid  Figger  Bush." 

"You's  gwine  to  win  de  prize,  too,  Solly," 
Skeeter  said  in  a  low  tone.  * '  Dat  is,  ef  you  dances 
wid  Figger.  You  cain't  git  a  showin'  dancin'  wid 
Pap.  Ole  age  an'  fatness  makes  a  powerful  poor 
combine  in  a  dance." 

"We  ain't  axin'  you  fer  no  remarks,"  Pap 
snarled,  turning  to  Skeeter. 

"Beg  parding  fer  buttin'  in,  Pap,"  Skeeter 
laughed.  ' '  I  wus  jes'  surprised  dat  you  wus  takin' 
up  dancin'  at  yo'  age." 

Skeeter  turned  away,  and  as  Pap  had  failed  to 
secure  a  partner,  there  was  nothing  for  him  to  do 
but  retire  from  the  floor,  lamenting  the  fact  that 
he  had  paid  a  dime  for  the  privilege  of  dancing  and 
lost  his  money.  He  sat  down  on  a  bench  on  the 
edge  of  the  throng  and  gave  himself  up  to  deep 
meditation. 

"I  got  lef  dat  time,"  he  grumbled  to  himself. 
"But  dis  am  jes'  de  fust  day  of  de  frolic.  I  got 
plenty  time  yit.  Fur  as  I  know,  I's  de  only  man  aim- 
in'  fer  her,  an*  de  only  onmarried  man  in  de  town." 


198         The  Consolation  Prize 

He  lighted  a  pipe  and  sat  smoking  for  five 
minutes.     Then  a  new  idea  came: 

''Wash  Jones  is  de  high  boss  of  dis  show,  an'  I 
reckin  Wash  knows  de  widder.  I  oughter  git 
Wash  to  he'p  me  hook  her." 

At  this  point  Popsy  Spout  wandered  up  to  the 
bench  and  addressed  Pap. 

"I  done  loss  my  way  in  dese  groun's  Pap,"  he 
complained.  "Dar's  so  many  wagins  an'  buggies 
an'  niggers  dat  I  can't  find  de  cabin  whar  I  sleeps 
at." 

"You  ain't  aimin'  to  sleep  now,  is  you?"  Pap 
asked. 

"I  goes  to  bed  reg'lar  'bout  dis  time." 

"Eve'ybody  is  stayin'  up  to  see  de  dance,"  Pap 
said. 

"I's  ag'in  dancin',"  Popsy  declared,  with  dis- 
gust in  his  tones.  "Me  an'  none  of  my  kinnery 
f oilers  atter  de  sinful  dance.  I  done  teached  'em 
better." 

"Teached  who  better?"  Pap  asked  quickly, 
planning  for  revenge. 

"Figger  an'  Scootie,"  Popsy  declared.  "Bofe 
of  dem  young  folks  abstains  from  de  dance." 

' '  Who  say  dey  does  ? ' ' 

"I  says,"  Popsy  replied  impatiently. 

"Whut  would  you  do  ef  you  wuster  see  Figger 
dancin'  to-night,  Popsy?"  Pap  asked  in  wheedling 
tones. 

"I'd  bust  his  head  wid  my  stick  an'  I  wouldn't 


The  Consolation  Prize         199 

let  him  inherit  none  of  my  dollars,  an*  I'd  drive 
him  an'  his  nigger  wife  outen  my  cabin,"  the  old 
man  announced  irately. 

**I's  kinder  skeart  Figger  is  a  deceitful  nigger, 
Popsy,"  Pap  said  in  a  bitter  voice.  "I  happens 
to  know  dat  he  is  gwine  dance  in  de  prize-dance 
to-night." 

***Tain't  so,"  Popsy  snapped.  **I  done  tola 
Figger  to  go  to  bed." 

The  music  started  in  the  pavilion  and  Pap  rose 
to  his  feet. 

**Come  wid  me,  Popsy,"  Pap  said.  'Til  show 
you  dat  Figger  ain't  as  good  as  you  thinks  he 
is." 

On  the  edge  of  the  crowd  Popsy  shaded  his  age- 
dimmed  eyes  with  the  palm  of  his  hand  and 
watched  the  swaying  forms  until  he  recognized 
Figger  Bush.  Figger's  dancing  partner  was  the 
easiest  thing  to  see  on  the  floor,  but  Figger  was 
completely  eclipsed  at  intervals  in  the  convolu- 
tions of  the  dance. 

If  Mrs.  Solly  Skagg  had  been  white,  she  would 
long  ago  have  been  signed  up  by  some  enterprising 
showman  and  her  monstrosities  exhibited  to  every 
community  in  the  country.  But  being  of  color, 
she  furnished  a  free  show  to  all  the  colored  people 
in  her  vicinity,  and  to-night  Figger  Bush  looked 
like  a  pickaninny  swinging  on  to  a  balloon  and  try- 
ing to  drag  it  to  the  ground.  Mrs.  Skaggs  was 
active,  not  graceful,  and  most  of  the  time  Figger's 


200        The  Consolation  Prize 

feet  were  in  the  air  and  he  was  swinging  onto  the 
ample  form  of  his  partner  with  both  hands. 

The  crowd  saw  the  fun  and  went  into  hysterics. 
Popsy  Spout  saw  the  exhibition  and  became  hys- 
terical also,  but  for  other  reasons.  He  walked 
forward  and  pounded  the  floor  with  his  patriarchal 
staff  and  screeched  Figger's  name,  demanding  that 
he  desist  at  once  and  go  to  bed.  But  four  big 
horns  in  the  Tickfall  brass  band  were  blaring  as 
the  performers  tried  in  vain  to  blow  out  their 
brains  through  the  mouthpieces,  and  Popsy 's 
whining  voice  was  like  the  note  of  a  cricket  in  a 
storm. 

The  old  man  finally  snorted  his  disgust,  express- 
ing his  sentiments  for  the  amusement  of  the  few 
around  him  who  could  hear,  and  tried  to  push  his 
way  out  of  the  crowd.  But  they  were  packed 
densely  around  him,  and  in  spite  of  his  wishes, 
Popsy  had  to  stay  and  see  the  rewarding  of  the 
prizes. 

Wash  Jones  stepped  out  and  made  the  an- 
nouncement : 

**Dis  am  de  fust  night  of  de  prize  dancin'  an'  so 
I's  bestowin'  de  prize  on  whut  I  calls  de  lucky- 
name  dancers.  I  done  wrote  de  name  of  eve'y 
couple  on  a  card  an'  put  de  names  in  dis  sack.  I 
now  proceeds  to  shake  'em  up  an'  will  put  my  han' 
in  dis  sack  an'  draw  out  one  card.  Ever  who's 
name  is  writ  on  de  card  is  de  winner  of  dis  dance, 
no  matter  ef  dey  kin  dance  or  not.    To-morrer 


The  Consolation  Prize        201 

night  we  will  hab  reg'lar  app'inted  judges  an'  no- 
body cain't  win  dat  cain't  dance." 

He  thrust  his  hand  into  the  bag,  stirred  the  cards 
around  for  a  moment,  created  suspense  by  fum- 
bling with  the  bag  and  making  jocose  remarks  to 
entertain  the  crowd.  At  last  he  found  the  card 
pinned  to  the  bottom  of  the  bag,  took  out  the  pin, 
and  brought  forth  the  names  of  the  winners. 

*Tigger  Bush  an'  Mrs.  Solly  Skaggs!" 

There  was  a  moment  of  intense  silence  which 
made  Wash  Jones  wince  with  fear.  Then  a  howl 
of  derisive  laughter  swept  over  the  crowd  and 
every  dancing  couple  was  completely  satisfied. 
All  thought  that  mere  chance  had  determined  the 
selection,  and  all  knew  that  Solly  and  Figger  were 
the  worst  dancers  in  the  world. 

The  lucky  couple  advanced  and  received  the 
prizes,  bowed  to  the  derisive  crowd  and  started  to 
retire.  Then  Popsy  Spout  advanced  to  the  center 
of  the  dancing  floor,  waving  his  big  staff  like  a  base- 
ball bat,  his  high,  shrill,  whining  voice  cutting  the 
silence  like  a  knife. 

"Figger  Bush,  you  is  a  wuthless,  lyin*,  deceit- 
ful cuss !  I  done  advised  you  to  abandon  dancin' 
an'  you  promised  to  do  it.  I  tole  you  to  go 
home  an'  go  to  bed,  an'  now  you  done  put  on  yo* 
clothes  an'  snuck  outen  yo'  cabin  an'  come  down 
here  to  dis  sinful  dance.  You  git  on  home  an' 
when  I  comes  I's  gwine  hide  you  wid  dis  stick!" 

**  Don't    make    no    scenery,      *opsy,"    Figger 


202        The  Consolation  Prize 

pleaded.  *'I  didn't  really  intend  to  dance  but  dis 
here  woman  betrayed  me  into  treadin'  a  tune  or 
two  wid  her  an'  I  couldn't  resist." 

**You  means  dat  you  wus  tempted  by  dis  here 
woman?"  Popsy  whined. 

**Dat's  whut,"  Figger  replied  solemnly. 

"You  go  home  an'  repent  an'  refawm!"  Popsy 
shrieked.  **Do  it  befo'  de  good  Lawd  draps  a 
brickbat  on  yo'  head  outen  de  sky!    Git!" 

Figger  pocketed  his  nickel-plated  cigarette 
holder  and  moved  away. 

Popsy  turned  and  surveyed  the  ample  propor- 
tions of  Mrs.  Solly  Skaggs. 

**  You  needs  a  good  steady  husbunt  to  keep  you 
back  from  yo'  evil  ways,  sister,"  he  announced. 
**You  didn't  hab  no  call  to  lead  my  little  Figger 
Bush  into  evil  ways." 

**I  won't  do  it  no  more,  Popsy,"  Mrs.  Skaggs 
said  easily. 

Old  Popsy  Spout  growled  like  a  senile  bear  and 
moved  away.  On  the  edge  of  the  platform  Pap 
was  waiting  for  him,  feeling  well  satisfied  with 
himself  and  the  revenge  he  had  achieved. 

*'Pap,  Figger  Bush  is  done  cut  hisse'f  off  from 
me  ferever,"  the  old  man  snapped.  "I's  gwine 
drive  him  an'  his  wife  outen  my  house  an'  home." 

"You'll  git  pretty  lonesome,  won't  you,  Pops}:-  ? " 
Pap  asked  idly. 

"Naw!"  the  old  man  snapped.  "I's  gwine 
marry  agin  right  away." 


The  Consolation  Prize         203 

**Wlio  you  done  picked  fer  de  gigglin'  bride, 
Popsy?"  Pap  asked  with  utter  indifference. 

**I  done  picked  de  widder  Solly  Skaggs,"  Popsy 
proclaimed.  "I's  gittin  ole  an'  blind  an'  she's  big 
enough  fer  me  to  see  as  fur  as  my  eyesight  goes. 
By  dis  time  nex'  year,  she'll  be  too  fat  to  dance  an' 
us '11  bofe  be  of  de  same  mind  on  dat.  She  needs 
some  sottled  husbunt  to  lead  her  outen  de  error 
of  her  ways.  Excusin'  dat,  she's  collected  her  in- 
surance money  an'  I  ain't  got  no  real  good  objec- 
tions to  a  little  more  dough.  I  needs  it  fer  my  ole 
age. 

He  moved  away  leaving  Pap  Curtain  gasping 
for  breath,  stupefied  by  utter  amazement. 

VI 
"a  cussin'  case'* 

Half  an  hour  later  Skeeter  and  Figger  met  in 
the  Hen-Scratch  saloon  to  discuss  the  events  of 
the  evening. 

"We  shore  knocked  de  skin  off  en  Pap  Curtain's 
nose  to-night,  Figger,"  Butts  exulted.  **Dat's 
de  way  so  keep  on.  We'll  show  dat  ole  man  dat 
he  cain't  beat  us  at  dis  game." 

''Never  no  more  fer  me,  Skeeter,"  Figger  said 
earnestly.  ' '  I  got  to  repent  an'  refawm  an*  dodge 
brickbats.  Atter  you  dances  one  time  wid  a  ole 
sook-cow  like  Solly,  'tain't  no  trouble  to  repent  an' 


204         The  Consolation  Prize 

refawm.  But  I's  shore  much  ableeged  fer  dis  ciga- 
reet  holder.     I  been  needin'  one  fer  a  long  time." 

"You  gimme  dat  cigareet  holder  back,"  Skeeter 
snapped.  **Us  kin  use  it  fer  all  de  yuther  prizes, 
an'  I  proposes  to  git  my  money  back  by  smokin' 
it  myself." 

'*I  knowed  you  warn't  gwine  be  lib'ral  wid  yo' 
gifts,"  Figger  said,  as  he  reluctantly  produced  the 
holder  and  passed  it  to  Skeeter.  ' '  I  oughter  lost 
dat  prize  befo'  I  showed  up  here." 

''You  kin  git  de  good  outen  it  by  watchin'  me 
smoke  it,"  Skeeter  snickered.  ''An'  ef  we  bust 
Pap's  plans  about  startin'  a  saloon,  mebbe  I'll  let 
you  smoke  it  a  few  times  to  keep  yo'  feelin's  from 
gittin'  hurt." 

At  that  moment  the  door  of  the  saloon  opened 
and  old  Isaiah  Gaitskill  came  across  the  room  to 
where  the  two  men  sat  at  a  table.  Isaiah  was  one  of 
the  landmarks  of  Tickfall,  withered  and  wrinkled 
and  dry  like  the  hull  of  a  walnut,  his  gray  hair  fit- 
ting his  head  like  a  rubber  cap,  over  eighty  years 
of  age,  but  as  hard  and  active  as  a  soldier. 

"Ole  fellers  like  you  oughter  be  in  bed,  Isaiah," 
Skeeter  announced  as  he  waved  the  visitor  to  a 
chair. 

"Fellers  nearly  as  ole  as  me  is  not  only  stayin' 
up  late  but  dey  is  figgerin'  'bout  gittin'  married," 
Isaiah  replied  with  a  grin. 

"Pap  Curtain  ain't  nigh  as  old  as  you,"  Figger 
retorted. 


The  Consolation  Prize         205 

**'Tain't  Pap  I's  alludin'  to,"  Isaiah  answered. 
*'It's  brudder  Popsy  Spout  whut's  studyin'  mat- 
termony." 

Many  things  had  happened  to  those  two  young 
men  in  their  variegated  and  adventurous  careers, 
but  nothing  had  ever  happened  to  produce  such  a 
shock  as  Isaiah's  announcement.  Figger  uttered 
a  startled  exclamation,  started  to  rise  from  his 
seat,  then  sank  back  with  his  chin  in  his  collar  and 
collapsed  like  a  punctured  tire.  Skeeter  Butts 
pawed  the  air  in  front  of  his  face  with  both  hands 
as  if  fighting  off  invisible  insects ;  he  made  inarticu- 
late noises  in  his  throat,  shut  his  teeth  down  so 
hard  on  his  celluloid  nickel-plated  cigarette  holder 
that  he  split  it  for  two  inches,  and  then  exclaimed 
despairingly : 

''Oh,  whoosh!" 

The  sound  was  like  the  feeble  exhaust  of  an  auto- 
mobile that  is  utterly  worn  out  and  broken  down 
and  never  intends  to  be  serviceable  again. 

**I  come  aroun'  to  ax  you-alls  is  Popsy  still  got 
dat  thousan'  dollars  in  Marse  Tom  Gaitskill's 
bank,"  Isaiah  proceeded,  taking  no  notice  of  the 
terrible  effect  of  his  announcement. 

"Whoosh!"  Skeeter  sighed  again. 

"I  got  a  notion  dat  Popsy 's  suttinly  still  got  it," 
Isaiah  continued.  "Dat  ole  monkey  don't  spen' 
no  money — he  saves  it." 

"Whoosh!"  Skeeter  muttered. 

There  was  a  long  silence,  the  men  looking  at 


2o6         The  Consolation  Prize 

each  other  without  a  word.  After  a  while  Isaiah 
began  to  drum  on  the  table  with  his  horny  finger- 
nails, and  the  sound  was  as  annoying  and  as 
startling  in  the  stillness  as  the  rat-a-tat-tat  of  a 
woodpecker  trying  to  drill  a  hole  through  a  tin 
roof.  Slowly  Figger  recovered  his  power  of  speech. 
He  glared  at  Skeeter  uttering  one  intelligible 
sentence : 

"You  is  to  blame  fer  dis!" 

And  then  he  began  to  **cuss."  It  was  an  edify- 
ing exhibition  to  one  interested  in  the  use  of  forc- 
ible words,  interested  in  the  efficiency  attained 
through  long  practice  and  experience,  and  interested 
in  knowing  how  copious  is  the  English  language  in 
terms  of  profanity,  blasphemy,  and  execration. 

Isaiah  listened,  casting  a  glance  of  admiration 
toward  Figger  now  and  then  as  he  heard  some 
especially  pregnant  phrases  of  vituperation,  then 
he  said : 

"Save  a  few  cuss- words  fer  future  use,  Figger. 
You'll  need  'em." 

"Keep  on,  Figger,"  Skeeter  said  encouragingly. 
"Dis  here  is  a  cussin'  case  an'  you  ain't  done  de 
case  justice  even  yit." 

"I  ain't  gwine  stay  here  an'  listen,"  Isaiah 
snapped.  "I  jes'  stopped  by  to  ax  about  Popsy's 
finances.  Ef  he's  still  got  de  dough  he  had  when 
he  arrived  up  at  dis  town,  he's  got  twicet  as  much 
as  de  gal  he's  studin'  to  marry  an'  dat'U  make  a 
good  match." 


The  Consolation  Prize         207 

"Hoi'  on,  Isaiah,"  Figger  wailed.  "Who  did 
you  say  Popsy  wus  aimin'  to  marry?" 

"I  ain't  specified,"  Isaiah  grinned,  reaching  for 
his  hat  and  preparing  to  go.  "But  I  don't  mind 
tellin' — it's  my  stepchile  by  my  fourth  wife's  fust 
marriage,  Mrs.  Solly  Skaggs!" 

The  exclamation  which  Figger  uttered  at  this 
information  indicated  that  he  had  exhausted  all 
the  treasuries  of  speech:  language  could  go  no 
further. 

"I  tole  you  to  save  some  cuss- words,"  Isaiah 
grinned. 

Skeeter  groaned,  fanning  himself  with  his  hat. 

"Dar  won't  be  enough  room  in  Popsy's  little 
cabin  fer  Figger  an'  his  wife  an'  Popsy  an'  his 
wife,"  he  meditated  aloud.  "Solly  is  a  cabin-full 
all  by  hers'f." 

"Popsy  is  shore  gittin'  plenty  fer  his  money," 
Isaiah  chuckled.  "I's  glad  she's  ended  up  dat 
way.  Dat  fat  gal  kin  eat  as  much  as  fo'teen 
chillun  an'  a  cow  an'  a  calf.  I  don't  hanker  to 
suppoteher." 

"How  come  Popsy  made  up  his  mind  to  ack  a 
fool  so  suddent?"  Skeeter  wailed. 

"He  seen  Figger  dancin'  wid  Solly  an'  he  don't 
approve  of  dat  exoncise.  He's  marry  in'  Solly  to 
refawm  her  an'  to  git  him  a  new  housekeeper  be- 
cause he's  gwine  chase  Figger  an'  Scootie  outen 
his  cabin  fer  deceivin'  him." 

Sometimes  when  you  step  on  the  shell  of  a  dead 


2o8         The  Consolation  Prize 

turtle  it  makes  a  ridiculous  squeak.  Figger  made 
a  noise  like  that. 

"Bad  luck,  Figger,"  Skeeter  said  sympatheti- 
cally, as  he  took  the  broken  nickel-plated  cigarette 
holder  from  his  mouth  and  handed  it  to  Figger. 
"I  gives  you  dis  little  present  to  show  my  sad 
feelin's  todes  you." 

Figger 's  mental  perturbation  was  such  that  he 
stuck  it  in  his  mouth,  struck  a  match  and  tried  to 
light  it  without  placing  a  cigarette  on  the  end. 

"Dis  is  awful,"  he  sighed. 

"I  reckin  Popsy  is  expeckin'  me  back  about 
now,"  Isaiah  remarked  as  he  arose.  "As  Solly's 
nachel  gardeen,  he  axed  me  to  speak  up  to  Solly 
an'  find  out  ef  she  wus  willin'.  But  fust  I  come 
to  see  how  Popsy  wus  fixed  financial.  Solly  ain't 
hankerin'  to  take  in  no  white  folks'  washin's  to 
suppote  a  ole  gizzard  like  Popsy." 

"Whar  is  Popsy  now?"  Skeeter  asked  eagerly. 

"He's  at  Shin  Bone's  resterant  here  in  town," 
Isaiah  replied. 

*  *  Us  will  go  wid  you,  Isaiah ! "  Skeeter  exclaimed. 
"Ef  dar's  a  weddin'  plannin'  I  wants  to  he'p  it 
along." 

The  three  men  hurried  to  the  eating-house  as 
rapidly  as  Figger's  feeble  knees  could  carry  him. 
Skeeter  had  to  support  his  friend  by  holding  his 
arm,  for  all  Figger's  vital  force  was  gone.  They 
found  Popsy  the  only  patron  of  the  place  and  he 
was  using  a  long  table  in  the  middle  of  the  room. 


The  Consolation  Prize         209 

not  for  the  consumption  of  food,  but  for  a  bed !  He 
was  stretched  out  full  length  on  the  table,  his  arm 
under  his  head  for  a  pillow,  his  rusty  stove-pipe 
hat  placed  beside  him. 

"Dis  here  bridegroom  is  takin'  a  nap,"  Skeeter 
snickered,  as  he  walked  in  and  sat  down  at  the 
table  beside  the  sleeping  man.  The  others  saw 
no  reason  to  arouse  him  from  his  slumbers,  so  they 
sat  down  beside  him  and  looked  at  the  sleeper. 
Skeeter  walked  to  another  table,  picked  up  a 
stalk  of  celery  and  brought  it  back  and  placed 
it  in  Popsy's  hand  where  it  rested  upon  his 
breast. 

Taking  off  his  hat,  he  placed  it  with  exaggerated 
solemnity  over  his  heart  and  sighed  with  pitiable 
sadness : 

' '  Don't  he  look  nachel ?  Ain't  dat  a  sweet  smile 
on  his  face?  He  looks  jes'  like  I  seed  him  yistiddy 
— ain't  changed  a  bit!" 

He  walked  over  to  Figger,  leaned  down,  and 
whispered : 

''Wus  you  acquainted  wid  de  corp'?" 

"I  knowed  him  real  good,"  Figger  answered, 
glaring  at  the  prostrate  form.  "He  shore  wus  a 
devilish  ole  cranky  nigger." 

"When  does  de  fun'ral  orgies  take  place?" 
Skeeter  whispered.  "Is  de  Revun  Vinegar  Atts 
gwine  'fishiate  at  de  'terment  ?  Po'  ole  man — atter 
all  his  troubles,  he  is  at  rest!" 

A  slovenly  waitress  approached  the  whispering 


2IO         The  Consolation  Prize 

men,  yawned  prodigiously,  and  gazed  at  Popsy 
with  a  stupid  face. 

"I  wants  you-alls  to  wake  up  Popsy  an'  tote 
him  off  home  to  bed.  Dis  here  ain't  no  nursery. 
I's  sleepy  an'  it's  time  to  shet  up  dis  house." 

Pap  Curtain,  on  his  way  home  from  Coon  Island, 
saw  the  men  gathered  around  Popsy  and  entered. 

"Whut  ails  Popsy,  brudders?"  he  exclaimed. 
"Is  de  ole  man  sick?" 

'  *  Naw, ' '  Skeeter  snapped.  ' '  No  such  good  luck. 
Mebbe  ef  he  sleeped  here  till  mawnin'  he'd  roll  off 
dis  table  an'  break  his  fool  neck!" 

"He's  love-sick,"  old  Isaiah  cackled.  "He 
gittin'  ready  to  marry." 

"Shore!"  Pap  snarled.  "He  tripped  up  my 
legs  an'  thro  wed  me  down.  I  wus  in  hopes 
Popsy  wus  sick — less  shove  him  off  dis  table  an' 
kill  him!" 

Then  another  man  entered  the  restaurant.  He 
was  a  fat,  pot-bellied  negro,  his  head  bald  except 
for  two  tufts  of  hair  growing  over  his  ears  which 
made  him  look  like  a  big  fat-faced  mule  wearing  a 
blind  bridle. 

"Hello,  brudders!"  the  Rev.  Vinegar  Atts  bel- 
lowed. "How  come  you-alls  didn't  stay  at  de 
weddin'?" 

"Never  heard  tell  about  dat'n,"  Skeeter  ex- 
claimed.    * '  Who  is  de  victims  ? ' ' 

"Brudder  Wash  Jones  an'  Sister  Solly  Skaggs!" 

"Whoo-pee-ee!"  Figger  Bush  screamed.     "De 


The  Consolation  Prize         211 

Lawd  wus  shorely  wid  me.  Wash  is  done  saved 
my  life!" 

Figger's  wild  yell  of  exultation  aroused  Popsy 
from  his  slumbers.  He  sat  up  and  rubbed  his  eyes. 
Then  he  saw  Isaiah  Gaitskill. 

"I  done  decided  not  to  marry  Solly,  Brudder 
Isaiah,"  he  whined.  "I  tuck  a  little  nap  an'  I 
dreamt  a  dream  dat  Calline,  my  fust  wife,  come  to 
me  an'  warned  me  to  beware  of  widders.  She  said 
dey  wus  awful  treach'rous  an'  deceivin'." 

"Calline  is  got  it  right,  Popsy,"  Pap  sighed. 
**My  little  romance  is  snipped  in  de  bud." 

"Wash  an'  Solly  had  dat  case  fixed  up  in  N' 
Awleens,"  Vinegar  told  them.  "Solly  wouldn't 
marry  Wash  onless  he  had  de  same  amount  of 
money  dat  she  inherited  from  her  husbunt.  So 
Wash  arrived  in  Tickfall,  started  a  Coon  Island 
like  N'  Yawk  has,  collected  five-hundred  admis- 
sions at  one  dollar  per  each,  married  Solly  an'  lit 
out  on  de  midnight  train." 

"Whut  becomes  of  dat  Coon  Island?"  Pap 
asked. 

"Wash  axed  me  to  hand  dat  whole  shebang  over 
to  you  fer  a  consolation  prize,"  Vinegar  answered. 


The  First  High  Janitor 
I 

"Dis  here  nigger  Uplift  League  is  shore  gittin* 
active,  Figger,"  Skeeter  But.ts  remarked  one  morn- 
ing as  he  entered  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon  and 
seated  himself  at  a  table  beside  his  partner. 

Figger  Bush  sat  with  his  knife-blade  poised  over 
the  top  of  the  pine  table,  trying  to  devise  some 
new  design  to  carve  upon  that  piece  of  furniture. 
He  showed  his  lack  of  interest  in  the  league  by 
replying : 

''Dem  Uplifters  ain't  gwine  lift  me  up.  I's  a 
heavy-weight." 

"You  always  vvus  a  sinker,"  Skeeter  smiled,  as 
he  watched  Figger  sketch  the  outline  of  an  Indian 
face  in  the  soft  pine  with  his  knife-point  before  be- 
ginning to  carve.  "You  jes'  nachelly  went  down 
ever  since  I  knowed  you." 

"Dese  Uplifters  is  uppity,  biggity,  high-brow 
niggers.  Dey's  always  jawin'  about  high  cullud 
sawciety,  an'  who  b'longs  an'  who  ain't  b'long. 
Dey  ain't  black  folks;  dey's  play-like  whites." 

"Dey's  actin'  an'  playin'  like  niggers  now," 

212 


The  First  High  Janitor        213 

Skeeter  grinned.  **Dey's  in  a  awful  row  'bout 
who's  gwine  be  elected  to  de  high-up  offices  of  de 
Uplift.  I  never  seed  de  beat  of  de  politickin'  dey 's 
doin'." 

** Nobody  ain't  politicked  me  yit,"  Figger  mur- 
mured, as  his  knife  slowly  moved  through  the  soft 
pine.  ' '  I  reckin  votes  ain't  fetchin'  so  awful  high 
price." 

'*Dem  Uplifters  is  gwine  uplift  de  price  befo' 
de  election  is  over,"  Skeeter  told  him.  "Ef  I  had 
a  real  loud  voice  an'  could  holler  an'  bawl  an' 
whoop,  I'd  run  fer  presidunt  of  de  league  myself.'* 

"You  jes'  fergit  dem  notions  off  yo'  mind," 
Figger  growled.  *  *  I  ain't  aimin'  to  keep  dis  saloon 
an'  do  all  de  odd  jobs  while  you  yelps  aroun'  like 
a  kicked  dawg  about  whut  oughter  be  done  fer  de 
poor,  oppressed  cullud  race." 

''But  de  Uplifters  is  done  f ergot  de  po',  op- 
pressed cullud  niggers  an'  is  thinkin'  up  cuss  names 
to  call  each  yuther  wid,"  Skeeter  explained. 
"Some  Uplifters  ain't  in  favor  of  de  way  de  yuther 
uplifts  is  liftin',  an*  dey's  tryin'  to  git  good  rid- 
dunce  of  Mustard  Prophet  an*  put  Pap  Curtain  in 
his  place  as  presidunt." 

"  Pap  Curtain  is  a  slick-head  nigger,**  Figger 
growled.  ' '  He's  heap  mo'  crookeder  dan  a  dawg's 
hind  leg.     Nobody  cain't  never  git  Pap  straight." 

"Dat's  de  kind  of  man  to  git  elected,**  Skeeter 
snickered.  "It*ll  take  a  slick-head  to  beat 
Mustard.** 


214        The  First  High  Janitor 

"You  real  shore  dey  ain't  gwine  run  you  fer 
presidunt?"  Figger  asked  suspiciously. 

"Dey  ain't  got  no  notion  of  dat  kind,"  Skeeter 
replied.  "Dey  don't  see  me  at  all.  Dis  here  is 
gwine  be  a  real  election  an'  it  takes  a  loud  speecher 
to  git  votes.  My  voice  is  too  squeaky  an'  my  size 
is  ag'in'  me.  A  little  runt  like  me  wid  a  screech- 
owl  voice  couldn't  git  elected  as  free-meat  man  in 
a  dawg  town." 

"I's  glad  you's  so  modest,  Skeeter,"  his  friend 
grinned.  * '  My  idear  is  dat  dis  saloon  is  gwine  be 
de  chiefest  headquarters  of  bofe  sides  of  de  Up- 
lifters.  We'll  rake  in  a  heap  of  dollars  by  bein' 
puffeckly  neuter  in  dis  race.  Ef  we  takes  sides, 
we  loses  money." 

"Dat's  so,"  Skeeter  agreed.  "But  I  heerd  Pap 
Curtain  talkin'  down  in  Dirty-Six  an'  Pap  got  de 
right  notion.  He  says  dat  we  need  new  blood  in  de 
Uplift  League.  He  says  dem  officers  whut's  got 
de  honors  now  jes'  holds  deir  jobs  an'  don't  do 
nothin'.  He  says  our  race  is  sinkin'  down  because 
dem  Uplifters  ain't  liftin'  up.  He  says  dat  de  pus- 
son  who  will  git  charge  of  dat  league  an'  make  it 
active  an'  yellervate  de  race  will  be  Tickfall's  most 
leadin'  cullud  sitson." 

"I  wouldn't  objeck  to  bein'  de  leadin'  member 
of  de  Tickfall  blacks,"  Figger  sighed.  "But  I's 
like  you — I  ain't  got  de  voice.  I's  got  de  heft  on 
you,  but  I  don't  weigh  as  much  as  Hitch  Diamond 
or  Vinegar  Atts,  an'  ef  weight  an'  voice  is  gwine 


The  First  High  Janitor        215 

win  out,  Ginny  Babe  Chew  is  got  us  all  beat  a 
mile." 

"Dat's  a  funny  thing  about  dis  here  race," 
Skeeter  chuckled.  ' '  Ginny  Babe  Chew  is  a  runnin' , 
too!" 

"Uhuh!"  Figger  grunted.  "Dat  means  dat 
eve'y  Uplifter  in  de  league  is  gwine  have  a  rep  on- 
less  dey  votes  fer  her.  Dat  ole  woman  knows  all 
desins  all  de  niggers  in  Tickfall  is  cormitted.  She 
tells  'em,  too.  An'  when  it  comes  to  callin'  cuss- 
names,  all  us  is  new  beginners  to  Ginny  Babe.  Dat 
gal's  had  expe'unce." 

"I  ain't  gwine  mess  wid  it,  Figger,"  Skeeter 
said,  as  he  thought  uneasily  of  the  things  Ginny 
might  tell  about  him.  * '  I  don't  want  my  rep  ruint 
by  Ginny  Babe.  Us'll  bofe  be  neuter  an'  keep  dis 
saloon." 

At  that  moment  the  door  of  the  saloon  was 
pushed  open  and  a  diminutive  darky  named  Little 
Bit  entered. 

Little  Bit  had  apparently  robbed  a  woman's 
wardrobe  for  his  wearing  apparel.  For  coat,  he 
wore  the  upper  half  of  a  woman's  coat-suit,  the 
tail  flapping  down  around  his  knees  and  the  sleeves 
rolled  up  to  his  elbows  to  give  exit  to  his  short 
arms.  For  a  shirt,  he  wore  a  woman's  shirt- 
waist, silk  material,  flowered  and  lacy  and  frilled. 
We  presume  that  the  woman's  husband  had  con- 
tributed the  masculine  portion  of  the  attire,  for 
the  trousers  had  originally  belonged  to   a   man 


2i6        The  First  High  Janitor 

much  larger  in  the  waist  and  much  longer  in  the 
legs  than  Little  Bit,  and  the  pants  were  hitched 
about  his  middle  and  cut  off  at  the  knees.  For 
hose,  he  wore — here  I  cross  my  heart  and  hope  I 
may  die — a  woman's  purple-silk  stockings,  ending 
at  the  feet  with  a  pair  of  ladies'  pumps,  gray  su^de 
in  color  with  high  French  heels ! 

"Whar  in  de  name  of  mud  is  you  been  at?'* 
Skeeter  Butts  howled  as  he  glared  at  his  wrist- 
watch.  "Is  you  wuckin'  in  dis  saloon  or  is  you 
ain't?  You  expeck  me  to  pay  you  wages  when 
you  comes  here  at  mighty  nigh  dinner-time  an' 
aims  to  do  a  day's  wuck?" 

' '  I  been  listenin'  to  Pap  Curtain  make  a  speech," 
Little  Bit  snickered.  ''He's  got  a  chunk  of  rock 
salt  in  one  hand  an'  a  sour  lemon  in  de  yuther,  an' 
he's  talkin'  about  all  de  sins  of  de  Uplifters.  He 
wants  me  to  he'p  him  win  out." 

"You!"  Skeeter  Butts  shrieked. 

"You!"  Figger  howled. 

* '  Suttinly , ' '  Little  Bit  answered.  '  *  I  got  plenty 
influence  an'  kin  git  a  lot  of  votes.  Pap  say  to  me 
dat  plenty  offices  is  to  be  give  away  to  his  sup- 
porters ef  he  gits  elected  an'  he  done  tipped  me  off 
dat  I'll  be  de  fust  high  janitor  at  four  dollars  per 
mont'  pay." 

"But  me  an'  Figger  is  gwine  be  neuter  in  dis 
race, ' '  Skeeter  snapped.  '  *  De  Hen-Scratch  saloon 
will  be  de  grand  high  headquarters  of  all  de  politics. 
Dis  saloon  mussn't  take  no  sides." 


The  First  High  Janitor        217 

"I  ain't  no  pardner  here,"  Little  Bit  replied. 
** Nobody  won't  pay  no  mind  to  me." 

**A11  right,"  Skeeter  said  after  a  moment's 
thought.  "I  reckin  you  don't  count  fer  nothin' 
nohow.  But  I  don't  stand  fer  no  politickin'  about 
dis  place.  Ef  you  gits  to  makin'  any  of  Pap's 
speeches  fer  him,  I'll  shore  suppress  you." 

Little  Bit  shuffled  his  high-heeled  pumps  in  a 
few  dance  steps  to  show  his  contempt  for  this 
warning  and  passed  out. 

"I  hope  dis  politics  disease  ain't  ketchin'," 
Figger  sighed.     "Little  Bit  is  done  got  de  germ." 

' *  'Tain't  ketchin', ' '  Skeeter  assured  him.  ' ' But 
I  shore  hopes  Pap  is  gwine  win  out  or  some  yuther 
good  man.  Mustard  Prophet  oughter  be 
squelched." 

**I  ain't  huntin'  no  job  like  dat,"  Figger  replied 
as  he  closed  his  knife  and  looked  with  admiration 
upon  his  handiwork.  'Ts  gwine  home  to  my 
dinner.  Scootie  is  cooked  some  hot  cakes  an'  I'm 
got  a  gallon  of  sirup." 

II 

In  Pap  Curtain's  career  he  had  driven  many 
carriages  which  transported  over  the  Parish  of 
Tickfall  the  candidates  for  the  offices  within  the 
gift  of  the  people.  He  now  recalled  to  his  profit 
that  every  prospective  Congressman,  Governor, 
and  Senator  went  from  house  to  house,  seeking 


218        The  First  High  Janitor 

out  each  voter,  loudly  enunciating  their  political 
principles,  and  soliciting  their  votes. 

Figger  Bush,  on  his  way  home  to  his  dinner  of 
hot  cakes  and  sirup,  found  a  little  group  of  negroes 
standing  on  a  corner  in  Dirty-Six,  with  Pap  Curtain 
in  the  midst.  Pap  gesticulated  with  his  left  hand, 
which  held  a  lemon,  and  his  harsh,  snarling  voice 
clearly  enunciated  the  principles  on  which  he 
hoped  to  be  elected  president  of  the  Tickfall  Uplift 
League. 

Figger  slipped  quietly  around  the  little  group, 
determined  to  go  on  his  way.  But  Pap  would  let 
no  possible  voter  escape. 

"Ain't  dat  so,  Brudder  Figger  Bush?"  Pap 
howled. 

*'Whut  ? ' '  Figger  asked,  brought  to  a  sudden  halt. 

*' Ain't  whut  I  been  say  in'  true  fer  a  fack?"  Pap 
demanded. 

''I  ain't  heerd  nothin',"  Figger  mumbled,  long- 
ing to  escape. 

Pap  walked  over  and  laid  an  impressive  and 
detaining  hand  upon  Figger's  shoulder.  The 
crowd  moved  with  Pap  and  enclosed  him,  and 
Figger  found  himself  shut  in  on  all  sides. 

**I  been  explavacatin'  dat  de  Uplift  League  ain't 
been  run  right.     Ain't  dat  so?"  Pap  snarled. 

*"Tain't  been  run  to  suit  me,"  Figger  mur- 
mured knowing  that  he  could  escape  more  easily 
if  he  agreed  with  Pap  than  would  be  possible  if  he 
started  an  argument. 


The  First  High  Janitor        219 

*'Suttin,  it  ain't!"  Pap  howled  triumphantly. 
*'  'Tain't  been  run  to  suit  nobody.  De  dues  is  too 
high,  de  members  of  de  league  is  too  choosy  about 
admit  tin'  new  members,  an'  a  poor  an'  meek- 
seemin'  man  ain't  got  no  show.     Ain't  dat  right? " 

''Shore  is,"  Figger  muttered,  with  some  reluc- 
tance. 

"You  know  how  'tis  yo'  own  self,  Figger!"  Pap 
howled,  elated  over  Figger 's  endorsement  of  his 
position.  '*I  remember  once  you  wusn't  allowed 
to  come  inside  de  league  meetin'  because  you  had 
on  shoes  'thout  no  socks!" 

"Dat's  so,"  Figger  agreed. 

**I  argufies  dat  wus  a  insult  an'  a  outrage!"  Pap 
snarled.     "  Don '  t  you  agree  wid  dem  sentiments  ? '  * 

"Yes,  suh." 

**I  proclamates  dat  de  members  of  de  league 
oughter  be  allowed  to  dress  as  dey  dern  please," 
Pap  howled.  "Let  'em  come  wid  socks  or  widout 
socks — dem's  my  docterines!" 

A  murmur  of  acquiescence  arose  from  the  little 
group,  and  Pap  with  true  oratorical  instinct  felt 
that  he  had  shot  off  the  one  big  set-piece  of  fire- 
works in  his  display,  and  that  he  had  better  quit 
at  his  climax.  Let  it  be  said  to  his  credit  that  he 
did  not  linger  to  shoot  off  a  single  lonesome  sky- 
rocket of  eloquence,  but  closed  his  mouth  right 
there,  and  laid  hold  upon  Figger 's  arm  and  led  him 
down  the  street  and  away  from  the  rest  of  the 
group. 


220        The  First  High  Janitor 

*'  I  wants  you  to  go  to  my  cabin  wid  me,  Figger," 
he  whispered.  ' '  Us  oughter  git  togedder  an'  whup 
out  dem  ins  an'  git  in  ourselves." 

"Scootie  is  expectin'  me  home  'bout  now," 
Figger  remonstrated. 

"I  won't  keep  you  long,"  Pap  assured  him. 

**Whut  you  think  is  my  chance  to  git  elected?" 

"I  reckin  you  got  some  show  ef  you  kin  git 
enough  niggers  to  vote  fer  you,"  Figger  told  him. 

"It's  principles  dat  gits  votes,"  Pap  proclaimed. 
**rs  preachin'  de  only  docterine  whut  hits  a  nigger 
right — eve'y  feller  do  as  he  please!" 

"Preachin'  don't  git  no  votes,"  Figger  disagreed. 
"Mostest  votes  is  got  by  de  man  whut  gits  de 
mostest  niggers  to  vote  fer  him  and  wuck  fer 
him.". 

"Dat's  why  I  needs  you,  Figger,"  Pap  said,  as 
they  walked  up  the  steps  and  sat  down  on  a  bench 
on  Curtain's  porch.  ' '  I  wants  you  to  come  in  wid 
me  an  he'p  me  git  elected." 

"Dar  ain't  nothin'  in  de  race  fer  me,"  Figger 
declined  promptly.  * '  I  don't  care  who  is  de  head 
leader  of  de  league.  I  ain't  in  de  Uplift  bizzness. 
I's  in  de  barroom  bizzness." 

"Bar's  plenty  in  it  fer  you,"  Pap  told  him.  "A 
presidunt  is  got  to  hab  a  vice-presidunt,  ain't  he? 
I  wants  you  to  run  wid  me  an'  be  my  vice-presi- 
dunt. In  case  I  dies  or  gits  in  jail,  you  gits  de 
presidunt  job." 

Figger  Bush  drew  in  his  breath  sharply,  then 


The  First  High  Janitor        221 

sat  for  a  long  time  in  silence,  looking  into  the  thick 
branches  of  an  umbrella  china-tree.  Honors  had 
been  suddenly  thrust  upon  him.  Pap  was  old  and 
his  chance  of  dying  was  good.  He  was  a  '  *  slick- 
head"  negro,  and  his  chance  of  getting  into  jail 
was  better.  It  did  not  require  much  imagination 
for  Figger  Bush  to  see  all  obstacles  cleared  away, 
and  behold  himself  as  the  honored  president  of 
the  Uplift  League. 

Scootie's  hot  cakes  got  cold;  Figger  never  did 
come  home  to  eat  them. 

Skeeter  Butts  tended  bar  alone  until  sundown 
before  he  saw  his  partner  again.  When  Figger 
entered,  Skeeter  howled: 

**Looky  here,  you  done  been  gone  long  enough 
to  go  to  a  fun'ral  an'  mourn  de  loss  of  yo'  best 
frien'.     Did  dem  hot  cakes  knock  you  out?" 

** Ain't  had  none,"  Figger  answered,  glancing 
up  in  surprise  at  the  sudden  recollection  of  his  lost 
dinner.     "Fergot  all  about  'em." 

''Whut  ails  you?  Whar  you  been  at?  De  fust 
notion  you  know,  you'll  git  fired!" 

"Ef  I  gits  elected,  I  don't  keer  ef " 

*'Ef  you  git — whut?"  Skeeter  interrupted,  his 
eyes  bulging  with  astonishment,  which  rapidly 
changed  to  anger  and  disgust. 

*'Pap  Curtain  is  candidated  me  to  run  fer  vice- 
presidunt  wid  him,"  Figger  explained.  "Ef  Pap 
dies  or  gits  in  jail,  I  gits  to  be  plum'  presidunt.  De 
chances  is  pretty  good.     Pap  digs  wells  fer  a  livin' 


222        The  First  High  Janitor 

an'  he's  got  plenty  good  chances  to  git  blowed  wid 
dynamite." 

''Positively  not!"  Skeeter  howled.  "Dyna- 
mite might  blow  up  whar  Pap  wus,  but  'tain't 
never  been  quick  enough  to  blow  up  whar  Pap 
is." 

''Anyhow,  Pap's  a  snoopy,  slick-head  nigger, 
an'  he's  got  a  good  chance  to  git  in  jail,"  Figger 
continued. 

"Listen  to  yo'  fool  talk!"  Skeeter  ranted. 
"Slick-heads  don't  never  git  in  jail.  Dey  chooses 
'em  a  pardner  or  a  vice-presidunt,  an'  it's  dat  mud- 
head  dat  gits  in  jail." 

"Anyways,  I'll  shore  be  presidunt  some  of  de 
time,  because  when  de  gram  jury  meets,  Pap  al- 
ways gits  de  trabbel-itch  an'  leaves  town,"  Figger 
rambled  on. 

Overcome  by  an  assortment  of  emotions,  Skeeter 
Butts  placed  his  feet  on  the  table  and  let  himself 
down  in  his  chair  until  he  was  sitting  on  his 
shoulder-blades.  He  fanned  himself  with  his 
derby  hat  and  glared  at  Figger  fairly  speechless 
with  wrath. 

"Of  co'se,  I  mought  not  git  elected,  but  me  'n* 
Pap  will  gib  'em  a  good  race " 

"You  bet  you  ain't  gwine  be  elected,"  Skeeter 
shrieked.  "You  ain't  gwine  be  allowed  to  run! 
You's  de  wuss  loon  tick  I  ever  did  see." 

"I  ain't  no  loontick,"  Figger  retorted.  "De 
last  words  you  said  to  me  befo'  I  lef '  fer  dinner — 


The  First  High  Janitor        223 

an'  I  shore  regrets  dat  I  loss  dat  dinner  by  de- 
privity — you  said  you  hoped  Pap  would  git  elected. 
Now  I  ups  an'  offers  to  he'p  Pap  an'  you  go  poppin' 
off " 

''Stop  talkin'  to  me  about  Pap  Curtain,"  Skeeter 
shouted.  ' '  Dat  ole  brayin'  jackace  is  jes'  makin'  a 
noise  to  git  hisself  heard.  He  won't  lose  nothin' 
ef  he  gits  beat,  but  ef  you  runs  wid  Pap,  us  is  gwine 
to  lose  half  dis  saloon  bizzness  because  de  yuther 
side  won't  paternize  us  none." 

Figger  gasped  for  breath. 

**I  f ergot  that  arrangement  entirely,  Skeeter," 
he  exclaimed.  '  *  Us  wus  gwine  keep  out  of  it.  But 
dat  won't  be  so  awful  bad.  Pap  an'  me  an'  our 
crowd  will  suppote  de  Hen-Scratch." 

*'I's  sorry  you  done  ruint  us,  Figger,"  Skeeter 
said  sadly  as  he  arose  to  go  out  for  his  evening 
meal.  "But  I  freely  admits  dat  you  wus  a  fool 
an'  didn't  know  no  better." 

Ill 

Skeeter  slapped  his  derby  hat  on  his  head  with 
such  force  that  it  popped  like  a  tambourine  in  a 
minstrel  show,  and  stalked  angrily  out  of  the 
room. 

He  moped  down  the  street  and  sauntered  slowly 
into  the  Shin  Bone  restaurant,  sighing  pitifully  and 
feeling  very  sorry  for  himself. 

A  slovenly  waitress  suppressed  a  yawn,  shuffled 


224        The  First  High  Janitor 

across  the  floor  in  slipshod  shoes,  and  asked  in- 
differently: ^'Whut's  yours?" 

Skeeter  waited  a  moment,  hoping  that  his  ap- 
pearance of  personified  calamity  would  impress 
the  woman  and  she  would  sympathize  with  his 
heart-break,  but  she  looked  like  she  was  going  to 
sleep  while  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  floor  so 
he  barked  his  order : 

**rs  had  so  many  troubles  my  appetite  is  plum' 
gone,  Pearly.  Gimme  a  plate  of  gumbo  soup,  a 
dozen  fried  oystyers,  a  bait  of  fried  catfish,  two 
slices  of  apple  pie  an'  a  glass  of  milk,  a  hunk  of 
watermelon  an'  a  cup  of  coffee." 

He  smoked  cigarettes  and  thought  up  mean 
things  to  say  to  Figger  Bush  until  the  order  was 
filled,  then  courted  suffocation  for  twenty  minutes 
by  eating  so  rapidly  that  he  did  not  take  the  time 
to  breathe. 

He  had  reached  out  for  the  pie  and  milk  when 
Shin  Bone,  the  proprietor  of  the  eating-house, 
came  from  behind  a  screen  and  seated  himself  at 
the  same  table. 

**  'Lo,  Shinny,"  Skeeter  mumbled  as  he  tried  to 
stuff  a  whole  slice  of  pie  in  his  mouth  at  one  time, 
and  therefore  became  incapable  of  coherent  speech 
for  the  next  few  minutes. 

** Hello,"  Shin  replied,  watching  Skeeter  with 
interest  until  the  last  of  the  first  slice  of  pie  was 
washed  down  by  the  milk.     ' '  How's  bizzness  ? ' ' 

*  *  'Tain*t  so  awful  bad, "  Skeeter  replied.     '  *  You 


The  First  High  Janitor        225 

an'  me  is  got  good  trades.  Folks  comes  to  yo* 
place  because  dey  gits  hungry  reg'lar,  an*  dey 
comes  to  me  because  dey  gits  thirsty  reg'lar.  All 
we  got  to  do  is  to  wait  till  dey  comes." 

**I  ain't  find  dat  true  now,  Skeeter,"  Shin  said 
gloomily.     "Wid  me,  bizzness  is  plum'  rotten." 

**How  come?"  Skeeter  asked  unconcernedly. 

'Tol'tics." 

Skeeter's  interest  revived.  His  second  slice  of 
pie  lingered  half  a  foot  from  his  mouth,  poised 
upon  his  hand. 

'*Dis  here  Uplift  League  election  has  done  loss 
me  all  de  customers  I'm  got, ' '  Shin  mourned.  *  *  Dey 
done  boycotted  me,  an'  tunked  my  bizzness  in  de 
head  wid  a  ax." 

*'Dey  hadn't  oughter  done  it,"  Skeeter  ex- 
claimed, working  himself  into  a  panic.  "How 
did  it  come  to  pass?" 

"My  wife,  Whiffle,  is  de  niece  of  Pap  Curtain," 
Shin  explained.  "Pap  is  runnin'  fer  de  presi- 
dunt  of  de  Liftuppers  ag'in  Mustard  Prophet. 
All  niggers  dat  favors  Mustard  is  done  cut  me 
out." 

"But  Pap  oughter  git  you  some  customers," 
Skeeter  protested. 

"Pap  ain't  got  de  right  follerin',"  Shin  sighed. 
"Niggers  dat  votes  wid  Pap  is  de  no-shirt,  no- 
sock  outfit,  an'  dat  kind  ain't  got  no  money  to  buy 
vittles.  Dey  begs  deir  grub  from  de  cook-ladies 
in  de  white  folks'  kitchen.     Mustard  Prophet  is 

IS 


22(>        The  First  High  Janitor 

got  de  high-brow,  uppity  niggers  wid  him  an'  dey's 
got  de  money  an'  eats  here  wid  me." 

Skeeter  nodded  in  speechless  comprehension  of 
the  tragedy,  the  hand  which  held  the  pie  wavered 
and  sank  slowly  to  the  table,  for  that  pie  didn't 
look  good  to  Skeeter  any  more. 

"Dem  Mustard  Prophet  voters  say  dey  ain't 
never  comin'  in  here  no  more,"  Shin  said  dolefully. 

"Ef  dey  don't  feel  no  better  dan  I  does  now, 
dey  wouldn't  fotch  you  much  trade,  fer  dey 
couldn't  eat  no  more  dan  a  brass  monkey,"  Skeeter 
sighed,  pulling  his  slice  of  watermelon  closer  to 
him,  although  unconscious  of  his  action.  Beads 
of  apprehensive  perspiration  stood  out  on  his  fore- 
head and  a  sudden  weakness  assailed  him. 

''Whut  ails  you,  Skeeter?"  Shin  inquired  solicit- 
ously, for  Skeeter  had  suddenly  collapsed  like  a 
punctured  tire.     '  *  Don't  you  feel  good  ? ' ' 

*'Somepin  I  done  et  is  disagreed  wid  me," 
Skeeter  moaned.  ^'Lemme  git  dis  coffee  down 
mebefo'  I  die!" 

Shin  waited  until  Skeeter  consumed  his  coffee 
and  rallied. 

"Of  co'se,  Whiffle  cain't  he'p  bein'  my  wife,  an' 
she  cain't  he'p  bein'  kin  to  Pap,  an'  we  bofe  cain't 
he'p  it  ef  Pap  runs  fer  presidunt,  but  we  shore  is 
got  our  nose  broke." 

"Don't  tell  me  no  more,  Shinny,"  Skeeter  ex- 
claimed, waving  both  hands  and  rising  to  his  feet. 
''My  head  is  crazy  now." 


The  First  High  Janitor        227 

"Is  you  got  troubles,  too?"  Shin  asked  sympa- 
thetically. 

' '  Troubles  ? ' '  Skeeter  howled.  '  *  Ain't  you  heerd 
about  Figger  Bush?  He's  runnin'  fer  vice-presi- 
dunt  wid  Pap  Curtain." 

"You  an'  me  bofe  blowed  up  suckers,  Skeeter," 
Shin  said  in  tragic  tones.  "Our  bizzness  is  bum 
an'  busted." 

"It's  powerful  bad.  Shinny,"  Skeeter  agreed. 

"Badder  dan  you  think,  Skeeter,"  Shin  said. 
""Pap  an'  Figger  is  shore  to  be  elected." 

"How  does  you  dope  dat  out?"  Skeeter  asked, 
panting  for  breath. 

"It  lines  up  dis  way,"  Shin  informed  him. 
"Ginny  Babe  Chew  is  runnin'  her  petticoat  pol'tics 
fer  presidunt.  All  of  Pap's  follerers  is  sinners  in  de 
sight  of  de  Lawd,  an'  Ginny  Babe  Chew  is  done 
pronounced  on  deir  sins  copious  an'  frequent,  so 
Pap  an'  his  crowd  hates  her.  In  dat  case.  Mustard 
prophet  ain't  gwine  git  as  many  votes  as  he  oughter 
had  because  Ginny  Babe  is  runnin'  an'  she'll  git 
her  voters  from  Mustard's  crowd.  Of  co'se,  when 
de  high -brows  splits  up  deir  vote,  Pap  an'  Figger 
will  snow  'em  over  an'  got  in  solid." 

Skeeter  felt  a  sudden  weakness  in  his  knees  and 
sat  down  forcibly  on  the  top  of  the  table.  Where- 
upon he  felt  considerable  moisture  in  the  vicinity 
of  his  coat-tail  and  sprang  up  to  find  that  he  had 
seated  himself  upon  his  slice  of  watermelon. 

""By     jacks!"     he     exclaimed     dramatically. 


228        The  First  High  Janitor 

"Figger  is  done  ruint  my  bizzness  an'  I  done  ruint 
my  pants!" 

"Ef  I  wus  you,  I'd  git  rid  of  'em  bofe,"  Shin 
suggested,  as  Skeeter  walked  out  of  the  restaurant, 
wiping  the  moisture  from  his  trousers  with  his 
handkerchief. 

When  Skeeter  had  gone,  Shin  found  that  the 
slice  of  watermelon  had  not  been  completely 
crushed  and  was  not  entirely  unedible,  so  he  drew 
himself  up  to  the  table  and  thankfully  ate  the 
uninjured  part. 

"Ef  Skeeter  wusn't  such  a  lightweight,  dis  whole 
chunk  would  hab  been  sp'iled,"  he  grinned. 

He  felt  better  after  eating  the  melon  until  he 
suddenly  recalled  that  Skeeter  had  left  the  eating- 
house  without  paying  for  his  meal. 

When  Skeeter  was  outside  of  the  restaurant,  he 
promptly  forgot  his  trousers  and  started  for  his 
home  in  a  trot.  He  went  up  the  long  hill  toward 
the  Flournoy  place  like  a  brown  shadow  passing 
through  the  darkness,  threw  open  the  door  of  a 
little  shed  and  seized  the  crank  of  his  ''flivver." 

A  moment  later  he  was  out  in  the  public  high- 
way, speeding  through  the  night  toward  the  Nig- 
ger-Heel plantation,  on  which  Mustard  Prophet 
was  the  overseer. 

He  found  Mustard  sitting  on  the  porch  of  his 
house,  shirtless  and  barefooted,  smoking  a  vile 
corncob  pipe. 

' '  Set  down,  Skeeter, ' '  he  said  in  greeting.  * '  Take 


The  First  High  Janitor        229 

off  all  yo'  clothes  an'  git  cool.  Dar  ain't  no  lady- 
folks  aroun'." 

"I  feel  real  chilly,  Mustard,"  Skeeter  said  in 
reply.     **Dat  is,  I's  got  cold  foots." 

^'Whut  ails  you?" 

"I  been  hearin'  dat  a  move  is  started  to  kick 
you  out  as  presidunt  of  de  Liftup  League." 

''Dat's  so,"  Mustard  said  indifferently.  "Dey 
cusses  me  fer  whut  I  does  an'  dey  cusses  me  fer 
whut  I  ain't  do,  an'  now  dey  is  tryin'  to  boost  me 
out  an'  drap  me  down." 

"I  don't  favor  it,  Mustard,"  Skeeter  said  ear- 
nestly. ''I  come  out  to  offer  my  he'p.  You 
oughter  hab  me  to  scuffle  fer  you  durin'  de  day 
while  you  got  to  wuck  on  dis  plantation." 

"Dat's  a  good  notion,  Skeeter,"  Mustard  said 
thankfully.     "I  app'ints  you  he'per  right  now." 

''Hoi'  on.  Mustard,"  Skeeter  said.  "It  don't 
go  so  fast  an'  easy  as  dat.  In  de  fust  place,  I 
wants  de  Hen-Scratch  saloon  to  be  de  headquarters 
of  yo'  side  in  de  race." 

"I'll  arrange  dat,"  Mustard  said  easily. 

"In  de  nex'  place,  I  wants  to  run  wid  you  on  yo* 
side  fer  vice-presidunt,"  Skeeter  continued. 

"I'll  fix  dat  easy,"  Mustard  said.  "Dar  ain't 
nobody  wid  good  sense  dat  wants  to  be  vice-presi- 
dunt of  nothin'.  Dat's  like  bein'  de  curl  in  a  pig's 
tail — jes'  ornamental  behind." 

"  'Tain't  no  diffunce,  I  wants  dat  job,"  Skeeter 
insisted. 


230        The  First  High  Janitor 

"I  announces  you  to-morrer,"  Mustard  said. 

"Dat's  all,  Mustard,"  Skeeter  concluded,  as  he 
slapped  his  hat  on  his  head.  ' '  I  got  to  hustle  back 
now  an'  start  my  voters  to  wuckin'." 

"Dar  now!"  Skeeter  said  to  himself  exultantly, 
as  his  little  machine  rattled  off  the  miles  back  to 
Tickfall.  ''I  done  got  dat  fixed  right.  Figger  is 
vice-presidunt  on  one  side  an'  I  is  vice-presidunt 
on  de  yuther  side,  an'  bofe  sides  is  promised  to 
make  de  Hen-Scratch  deir  headquarters." 

Seven  miles  of  sandy  road  slipped  under  his 
flying  wheels  like  a  brown  ribbon  while  he  con- 
templated this  master  stroke  of  business.  He 
placed  his  little  machine  under  the  shed  and 
climbed  into  bed  before  he  spoke  to  himself  again : 

"Dat's  whut  I  calls  a  good  sense  compromise.'* 

IV 

*'Now,  Figger,"  Skeeter  Butts  announced  the 
next  morning,  ' '  I  got  such  a  idjut  f er  a  partner  in 
dis  here  saloon  dat  I  had  to  go  git  myse'f  candi- 
dated  fer  pol'tics." 

"Is  you  runnin'  fer  presidunt?"  Figger  asked. 
"I  thought  you  said  you  squealed  too  much  when 
you  talked." 

"I's  runnin'  fer  vice-presidunt,"  Skeeter  said 
solemnly.  'Ts  runnin'  wid  Mustard  Prophet  an' 
us  is  shore  gwine  gib  you  an'  Pap  Curtain  a  happy 
time  gittin' elected. " 


The  First  High  Janitor        231 

*'Dat  looks  bad  to  me,  Skeeter — pardners  in 
bizzness  runnin'  ag'in'  each  yuther." 

"Dat's  de  best  bizzness  trick  I's  done  yit," 
Skeeter  said  confidently.  "Bofe  sides  uses  dis 
house  fer  headquarters.  I  sells  drinks  to  de  Mus- 
tard Prophets  an'  you  sells  drinks  to  de  Pap  Cur- 
tains, an'  we  ketch  'em  comin'  an'  gwine." 

*'I  sees,"  Figger  exclaimed  in  a  voice  which 
throbbed  with  admiration.  **  Dat's  de  best  nigger 
idear  in  Tickfall.  We'll  git  rich  an'  one  of  us  will 
git  elected." 

"Look  out  fer  Ginny  Babe  Chew!"  the  voice  of 
Little  Bit  proclaimed  from  the  other  end  of  the 
room,  where  the  little  darky  wrestled  with  a 
broom.  ''She's  de  one  whut'll  ketch  you-alls 
comin'  an'  gwine!" 

"Us  don't  care  nothin'  fer  dat  ole  squawkin'  fat 
hen,"  Skeeter  replied  contemptuously. 

"You  better  not  git  too  close,"  Little  Bit  warned. 
"Dat  ole  hen'll  peck  you!" 

"Shut  up!  You  git  dis  saloon  clean t  up.  Us 
is  expect  plenty  comp'ny  to-day.'* 

"It  wus  a  narrer  squeak  fer  us,  Figger,"  Skeeter 
said  earnestly.  "When  you  didn't  stay  neuter 
dis  bizzness  wus  'bout  to  go  bust  ontil  I  made  dem 
new  arramgements." 

During  the  day  Pap  Curtain  came  in  and  held 
sundry  whispered  conferences  with  Figger  Bush. 
Mustard  Prophet  drove  to  town  and  was  closeted 
for  two  hours  with  Skeeter  Butts.     Both  men  were 


232        The  First  High  Janitor 

arranging  for  a  conference  at  the  Hen-Scratch 
saloon  that  night  with  their  henchmen,  and  both 
barkeepers  were  feeHng  elated  at  the  prospect  of  a 
prosperous  evening. 

Then  Vinegar  Atts  entered  and  spoiled  it  all. 
He  left  his  little  red  runabout  snorting  and  spitting 
outside  the  door  while  he  entered  with  haste  carry- 
ing some  of  the  paraphernalia  of  a  fisherman. 

"Gimme  a  little  snake-bite  med'cine,  Skeeter," 
he  yelled.  "I's  in  a  hurry.  I's  gwine  fishin'  an' 
I's  heard  tell  dat  snakes  in  plenty  in  de  swamp." 

*'Is  fish  bitin'?"  Figger  inquired. 

"Dunno,"  Vinegar  replied.  "I  done  selected 
dis  occupation  to  keep  from  stayin'  in  town.  Dat 
Uplift  election  is  done  deprived  me  of  my  goat.  I's 
skeart  to  stay  here  an'  git  on  either  side.  It'll 
bust  up  my  Shoofiy  chu'ch." 

"Ef  us  wus  twins  an'  could  git  on  bofe  sides, 
dat  wouldn't  be  so  bad,  would  it?" 

"Whar  you  been  at  dat  you  don't  know 
nothin'?"  demanded  Vinegar  in  disgusted  tones. 
''Some  of  dem  niggers  whut  represent  bofe  sides 
come  to  my  chu'ch  to  prayer- meetin'  last  night, 
an'  dey  got  in  a  fight  at  de  door  of  de  meetin'- 
house!" 

"Dey  oughter  be  churched ! "  Skeeter  exclaimed. 

"Dey  would  hab  been  churched,  only  I  agonized 
wid  'em  an'  got  'em  to  bury  de  hatchet.  But  I 
ain't  runnin'  no  risks.  Dey  buried  de  hatchet, 
but  dey  left  de  handle  stickin'  out!" 


The  First  High  Janitor        233 

*  *  Dat's  bad  news,  Rev'un, ' '  Skeeter  sighed.  * '  Dis 
here  am  de  official  headquarters  of  bofe  sides." 

''Bad  luck,  Skeeter!"  Vinegar  bellowed  as  he 
started  toward  the  door.  ''You  better  hang  a 
piece  of  black  crape  on  de  Hen-Scratch  door  and 
go  fishin'  wid  me.  Dem  niggers  will  shore  rough- 
house  you  when  dey  git  started,  an'  you'll  be  same 
as  dead."  ^ 

Vinegar  departed,  leaving  uneasiness  and  anxiety 
where  confidence  had  been. 

In  the  evening,  the  saloon  rapidly  filled  with 
negroes  who  came  in  from  the  country.  They 
were  all  hardy  men,  with  muscles  of  oak  and  iron — 
one-shirt,  one-gallus  fellows  of  the  baser  sort,  who 
despised  the  colored  man  who  lived  in  town,  wore 
a  derby  hat,  sported  a  high  collar,  and  was  stuck 
up.  These  were  all  sullen  and  devoted  adherents 
of  Pap  Curtain,  and  after  listening  for  a  while  to 
their  bitter  anarchistic  talk,  Figger  Bush  became 
frightened  of  his  own  supporters  and  wished 
there  was  some  easy  and  unostentatious  way  to 
resign. 

"Dem  fellers  is  rambunctious,"  he  whispered 
fearfully  to  his  partner.  "Dey  comes  at  eve'y- 
thing  butt-end  fust  an'  hits  it  wid  a  jolt.  I  wish 
I  hadn't  never  et  outen  de  same  spoon  wid  'em. " 

"Don't  stir  'em  up  too  much,  Figger,"  Skeeter 
urged  him.  "Mebbe  when  some  of  my  gang 
comes  in  dey '11  calm  down  a  little." 

But  Skeeter  found  that  when  a  bull  is  mad  the 


234        The  First  High  Janitor 

sight  of  another  bull  does  not  calm  his  spirit;  it 
rouses  him  to  battle. 

A  number  of  town  negroes  drifted  in,  took  a 
look  at  the  situation,  and  drifted  quietly  out. 
They  had  counted  the  number  of  Pap's  adherents 
and  had  gone  for  reenforcements,  for  the  saloon 
wa^  soon  filled  with  men  who  were  loud  in  their 
praKe  of  Mustard  Prophet,  and  they  outnumbered 
Pap's  followers  three  to  one. 

Pap's  crowd,  dusty,  ragged,  trampish-looking, 
drew  off  at  one  end  of  the  saloon  and  composed 
a  little,  sour,  ugly  bunch ;  over  against  the  more 
dressy  Tickfall  bunch,  they  were  a  sad  contrast, 
and  they  felt  it. 

Then  Pap  Curtain  entered  the  scene,  and  his 
followers  took  heart. 

Pap  was  practicing  the  political  trick  of  looking 
like  he  belonged  to  the  great  common  people,  and 
had  come  up  from  the  commonest  of  them  all.  He 
was  a  grave-digger  and  well-digger  by  profession, 
and  he  looked  to-night  like  he  had  just  finished  the 
job  of  digging  all  the  graves  and  wells  that  would 
be  needed  in  Tickfall  Parish  for  many  years  to 
come.  There  was  fresh  clay  on  his  clothes  and 
hat  and  shoes;  clay  streaked  his  yellow  baboon 
face,  and  was  plastered  thick  upon  his  horny 
hands.  He  joined  his  bunch  with  many  noisy 
greetings  and  much  hand-shakings,  and  glared 
over  at  the  town  crowd  with  every  manifestation 
of  contempt  that  he  could  devise. 


The  First  High  Janitor        235 

Mustard  Prophet  came  in  and  joined  the  town 
crowd.  He  was  a  good-natured,  easy-smihng, 
hard-working  negro  who  had  the  confidence  and 
esteem  of  all  the  people  in  the  town,  white  and 
black.  Yet  he  was  a  real  country  negro,  who  had 
never  lived  in  Tickfall  in  his  life,  while  Pap  had 
spent  many  years  in  Tickfall  and  owned  his  cabin 
there.  ^ 

Smilingly,  Mustard  turned  to  Skeeter,  and  said, 
loud  enough  for  everyone  to  hear : 

"Less  git  dese  here  obsequies  started,  Skeeter. 
What  am  de  plogram  ? ' 

"I  ain't  fixed  up  no  special  diagram,"  Skeeter 
muttered.  "Mebbe  we  mought  start  somepin  off 
ef  bofe  de  leadin'  candidates  made  a  speech.'* 

"Let  'em  speech ! "  a  number  of  voices  exclaimed. 

"Brudders,  I  introduces  Pap  Curtain,"  Skeeter 
announced.  "He's  runnin'  fer  presidunt  of  de 
Uplift.     We  axes  him  to  say  de  fust  words." 

"I  ain't  used  to  speakin'  'thout  I  kin  cuss,"  Pap 
Curtain  began,  in  his  snarly  voice,  gazing  at  the 
Prophet  aggregation  with  contemptuous  eyes  and 
sneering  lips.  "When  I  sees  a  lot  of  dude  niggers 
tryin'  to  ack  like  Gawd  made  a  mistake  when  He 
didn't  make  'em  white,  I  don't  cuss,  because  I  ain't 
able  to  do  the  subjeck  jestice.  I  thanks  de  good 
Lawd  dat  I  ain't  nothin'  but  a  corn-fiel'  nigger, 
brudder  of  de  cotton-fiel'  mule,  an'  I  makes  my 
livin'  diggin'  wells,  ditches,  an'  graves.  I  done 
dug  de  graves  of  all  de  dead,  an'  now  I's  gittin' 


236        The  First  High  Janitor 

ready  to  dig  de  graves  of  some  dat's  livin'.  We 
corn-fier  niggers  will  bury  Mustard  Prophet  an' 
his  Tickfall  dudes  when  de  day  of  votin'  comes!" 

A  sullen  note  of  applause  came  from  Pap's  ugly- 
looking  crowd,  but  there  was  no  enthusiasm,  no 
good- will.  In  a  word.  Pap's  crowd  were  not  good 
sportsmen.  One  man  took  a  big  red  apple  out  of 
his  pocket,  wiped  it  off  on  the  leg  of  his  trousers 
and  began  to  eat  it. 

*'I  now  introduces  Mustard  Prophet,"  Skeeter 
announced  uneasily. 

There  was  handclapping,  several  shouts  of  ap- 
plause. Mustard's  crowd  had  been  trained  in  the 
lodges  and  the  various  clubs  and  knew  a  little  bet- 
ter how  to  act  under  the  circumstances. 

*'I  don't  see  no  reason  fer  gittin'  sour  an*  ugly, 
brudders, ' '  Mustard  began.  ' '  Nobody  ain't  gwine 
lose  much  ef  he  don't  git  elected  presidunt  of  de 
league.  In  de  last  year  I  ain't  got  nothin'  fer  my 
presidunt  job  but  a  cuss-word  eve'y  time  I  do 
somepin  dat  don't  please  nobody.  Of  co'se  I 
wants  to  keep  on  wid  dis  job  an'  hopes  you  won't 
fergit  to  vote  fer  me.  Pap  Curtain  says  he's  a 
corn-fier,  cotton-fiel'  nigger,  but  dar  ain't  no  man, 
white  ner  black,  dat  ever  seed  him  wuckin'  in  no 
kind  of  fiel'  as  a  country  nigger  oughter  do.  He 
lives  in  dis  town,  an'  he  owns  his  house  in  dis  town. 
As  you-all  knows,  I's  a  real  country  nigger,  never 
did  live  in  town,  an'  I  been  de  overseer  of  Marse 
Tom's  plantation  fer  twenty  year.     I  tries  to 


The  First  High  Janitor        237 

stand  by  de  high  notions  of  de  Uplift.  I  preaches 
dat  a  feller  ought  to  dress  up  in  work  clothes  when 
he  wucks,  an'  put  on  his  compan'y  clothes  when 
he  goes  out  in  sawciety,  an'  wear  his  Sunday 
clothes  at  de  lodge  an'  de  fun'ral  an'  de  meetin'- 
house " 

At  this  point  the  apple-eating  adherent  of  Pap 
Curtain  had  consumed  his  apple  to  the  core.  He 
balanced  it  on  his  thumb  as  a  child  prepares  to 
shoot  a  marble,  and  flicked  it  across  the  room, 
where  it  landed  on  the  top  of  Mustard  Prophet's 
bald  head. 

Mustard  Prophet  stepped  down  from  the  chair 
on  which  he  was  standing,  walked  quietly  across 
the  room,  laid  hold  of  the  collar  of  the  offender, 
kicked  his  shins,  punched  his  jaw,  then  turned  him 
around  and  booted  him  across  the  room. 

It  was  no  more  than  the  offender  deserved,  but 
he  offered  all  the  resistance  and  counter-offensive 
in  tiis  power,  and  while  this  was  going  on  someone 
slipped  behind  Mustard  and  administered  a  lusty 
and  soul-satisfying  kick  to  him. 

The  notion  became  contagious.  The  two  forces 
joined  in  combat,  but,  strange  to  say,  they  did  not 
fight  with  fists,  but  with  feet. 

**Look  at  dat!"  Little  Bit  exclaimed,  as  he 
scrambled  to  a  safe  place  on  the  top  of  the  bar, 
where  he  danced  up  and  down  in  his  high-heeled 
pumps.  *'Eve'ybody  is  tryin'  to  kick  eve'ybody 
else!" 


238        The  First  High  Janitor 

In  a  moment  the  crowd  was  so  cramped  for 
room  that  they  had  to  abandon  that  mode  of  com- 
bat and  began  to  fight  with  their  fists.  They 
milled  around  and  around,  pounding,  scrouging, 
punching  with  elbows,  while  their  voices  rose  in  a 
mighty  diaphony  of  imprecation  and  abuse. 

"Lawd!  Lawd!"  Little  Bit  exclaimed  in  a 
prayerful  voice  from  his  place  of  safety  on  the  bar. 
**Eve'ybody  is  tryin'  to  hit  eve'ybody  else! " 

In  the  fury  of  battle  the  men  sought  other 
weapons  and  found  the  numerous  chairs  most  con- 
venient. In  the  jam  they  found  it  impossible  to 
swing  the  chairs  and  hit  with  them,  so  they  held 
the  chairs  before  them,  as  a  lion-tamer  does,  and 
charged  their  opponents,  holding  their  heads  low 
to  avoid  being  clubbed.  The  resemblance  to  a  lot 
of  milling,  horning  cattle  struck  Little  Bit  at  once, 
and  from  his  vantage-point  upon  the  bar  he  an- 
nounced the  procedure : 

**Eve'y  bully  is  tryin'  to  hook  eve'ybody 
else!" 

Skeeter  Butts  had  seen  as  much  of  the  fray  as 
he  could  stand,  so  he  ran  behind  the  bar,  seized 
his  automatic  pistol  and  fired  it  in  the  air,  holding 
the  weapon  out  of  the  window.  He  knew  how 
dangerous  such  a  performance  was,  for  it  might 
suggest  to  the  angry  negroes  the  use  of  their  own 
guns.  But  he  took  the  chance  with  the  hope  that 
the  town  watchman  would  hear  the  firing  and  come 
to  the  rescue. 


The  First  High  Janitor        239 

The  negroes  took  no  notice  of  the  pistol-firing, 
for  some  of  them  had  found  new  and  mightier 
weapons.  There  were  half  a  dozen  tables  in  the 
room,  and  when  some  of  these  were  overturned, 
the  men  wrenched  the  legs  off,  and  with  shouts  of 
glee  brought  these  mighty  clubs  into  action. 

' '  Gawdlemighty ! ' '  Little  Bit  screamed.  ' '  Eve'y- 
body  is  tryin'  to  kill  eve 'y body  else!" 

Figger  rushed  to  the  electric-switch  and  turned 
off  the  lights. 

"Bless  Gawd!"  Little  Bit  bawled.  "Eve'y- 
body  cain't  see  eve'ybody  else!" 

Suddenly  a  voice  cut  through  the  sound  and 
fury  of  that  room. 

"Hey,  you  niggers!  Turn  on  the  lights!" 

Silence  except  for  the  tramping  of  many  feet 
going  toward  doors  and  windows. 

"Halt!" 

Silence,  broken  by  the  sound  of  running  feet. 
The  light  flashed  on  and  Little  Bit  stood  by  the 
switch. 

"Dey's  all  went,  cap'n,"  he  snickered.  "No- 
body here  excusin'  me!" 

The  watchman  pushed  open  the  swinging  door 
and  passed  out  into  the  night. 

"I  guess  de  meetin*  is  over,"  Little  Bit  giggled. 
"I'll  shet  up  an'  go  home  to  bed." 

He  carefully  examined  his  garments  to  see  that 
they  had  not  been  hurt  in  the  scramble,  smoothing 
his  flowered  shirt-waist  shirt,  and  pulling  up  his. 


240        The  First  High  Janitor 

purple-silk  stockings  till  they  were  trim  and  neat 
over  his  legs. 

''I'm  glad  dem  scufflers  didn't  spile  my  ladylike 
clothes,"  he  said  proudly.  "Ginny  Babe  Chew 
says  I's  de  sensation  of  de  town!" 


During  the  night  there  was  an  exodus  from 
Tickfall  on  the  part  of  certain  citizens. 

Skeeter  Butts  and  Figger  Bush  left  for  the  fish- 
ing-camp, where  Vinegar  Atts  had  taken  refuge. 
They  found  Pap  Curtain  and  Mustard  Prophet 
sitting  in  front  of  a  camp-fire,  telling  the  pastor  of 
the  Shoofly  church  the  story  of  their  rival  race  for 
president  of  the  Uplift  League. 

The  place  of  assembly  was  known  as  the  Buz- 
zard's Roost,  a  camp  hidden  deep  in  the  Little 
Moccasin  Swamp  on  the  banks  of  the  Dorfoche 
Bayou.  During  the  next  day,  their  company  was 
augmented  by  various  negroes  who  nursed  wounds 
and  bruises  acquired  in  the  affray  in  the  saloon. 
But  they  were  all  fugitives — and  friends  now. 

Followers  of  Pap  Curtain  and  followers  of  Mus- 
tard Prophet  dug  bait  and  cut  poles  and  rigged 
up  fishing-lines  and  entered  into  friendly  pisca- 
torial rivalry  and  forgot  all  about  the  elevation 
of  the  poor,  oppressed  colored  race.  Ten  days 
passed  in  a  happy  vacation  for  the  whole  care-free 
bunch. 


The  First  High  Janitor        241 

Then  Little  Bit  made  his  appearance  at  the 
Buzzard's  Roost  with  an  important  annoimce- 
ment: 

**You  won't  git  arrested  ef  you  comes  in  now, 
brudders.     De  police  is  done  f ergot  all  about  you. '  * 

^'Whut's  de  good  news  in  Tickfall,  Little  Bit?" 
Skeeter  inquired. 

"De  election  is  done  winned,"  Little  Bit  told 
him. 

' '  Who  am  presidunt  ? ' '  Mustard  Prophet  asked 
hopefully. 

"Ginny  Babe  Chew." 

A  low  moan  of  sorrow  came  from  the  throats  of 
the  crowd. 

"Yes,  suh,"  Little  Bit  continued.  "De  Uplift 
League  met  an'  called  a  election  immediate,  an' 
Ginny  got  all  de  votes." 

"Who  else  wus  'lected?"  Figger  asked. 

"Me!"  Little  Bit  grinned  proudly.  "I  was 
'lected  fust  high  janitor  at  four  dollars  per  mont' 
pay.  I'm  de  only  man  whut  got  a  job.  De  lady 
folks  took  a  look  at  dese  here  ladylike  clothes  an' 
dey  'lected  me  unanermous." 

There  was  silence  for  quite  a  while.  Then 
Skeeter  asked : 

"Is  de  Hen-Scratch  pretty  much  busted  up, 
Little  Bit?" 

"Naw.     'Tain't  hurt  any.     I  nailed  de  legs  on 
de  tables  an'  patched  up  de  broke  chairs  an'  us  is 
jes'  as  good  off  as  ever." 
16 


242        The  First  High  Janitor 

Skeeter .  glanced  toward  his  automobile  and  rose 
to  his  feet. 

*'I's  gwine  back  to  town,  niggers!"  he  an- 
nounced. "You-all  kin  f oiler.  De  fust  drink  in 
de  Hen-Scratch  is  a  free-fer-all  on  me!" 

A  shout  of  applause  greeted  this. 

"But  listen,  fellers,"  Skeeter  said  earnestly. 
*'From  dis  time  on,  as  fer  as  I'm  concerned,  pol'tics 
is  nix!" 


Family  Ties 


There  were  two  men  in  Tickf all  to  whom  every- 
body came  with  their  troubles — Vinegar  Atts, 
pastor  of  the  Shoofly  church,  and  Skeeter  Butts, 
proprietor  of  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon.  Both  were 
reputed  among  their  fellows  to  be  wise  in  all  human 
experience  and  equal  to  every  emergency  of  life 
upon  the  earth. 

Generally  a  man  in  trouble  went  first  to  Vinegar 
Atts,  after  which  he  poured  his  tale  into  the  ear 
of  Skeeter  Butts.  Each  of  these  modern  solons 
gave  the  troubled  one  some  expert  advice ;  then 
the  preacher  and  the  barkeeper  got  together  and 
held  a  consultation,  in  which,  as  in  a  consultation 
of  physicians,  the  diagnosis  of  each  was  confirmed, 
but  the  treatment  was  changed. 

This  time  it  was  Shin  Bone  in  trouble.  Shin 
was  the  proprietor  of  a  hot-cat  eating-house,  which 
made  him  and  his  wife  very  popular  in  the  com- 
munity, for  there  seems  to  be  a  natural  affinity 
between  a  colored  person  and  a  piece  of  fried 
catfish. 

243 


244  Family  Ties 

**Whut  ails  yo'  mind,  Shin?"  Vinegar  asked  as 
Shin  sat  down  on  the  cabin  porch,  dropping  his 
old  wool  hat  at  his  feet. 

"I's  in  deep  troubles,"  Shin  said  sorrowfully. 

"A  nigger's  trouble  is  like  de  rainbow — 'tain't 
got  no  end,"  Vinegar  philosophized.  *'But  I 
don't  turn  no  nigger  friend  down  because  his 
troubles  won't  terminate.  I's  willin'  to  he'p  you 
fer  any  amount  up  to  one  dollar." 

'"Tain't  money  troubles,"  Shin  said.  *'My 
bizzness  is  doin'  fine,  but  I  ain't  gittin'  along  so 
powerful  good  in  my  fambly." 

"You  ain't  got  no  fambly,  excusin'  Whiffle  an' 
yo'  baby,"  Vinegar  observed. 

"De  baby  is  all  right,"  Shin  explained;  "but 
Whiffle  ain't  doin'  so  well." 

Vinegar  sat  for  a  while  in  an  expectant  attitude, 
waiting  for  Shin  to  go  on  with  the  narration ;  but 
Shin  found  it  hard  to  tell  what  he  had  come  to  say. 
He  made  several  abortive  efforts  to  get  his  mouth 
to  going  which  got  no  further  than  a  wretched 
silence  and  made  him  look  like  an  idiot. 

"Well?"  Vinegar  bellowed.  "Why  don't  you 
say  somepin  ?  You  ack  like  one  of  dese  here  deef 
an'  dumb  mutes  celebratin'  de  Fo'th  of  July  wis 
noiseless  powder." 

"My  ailment  is  dis,"  Shin  said  desperately, 
speaking  the  words  in  a  rush,  as  if  in  a  hurry  to  get 
the  confession  over.  ' '  My  wife.  Whiffle,  is  payin' 
entirely  too  much  attention  to  yuther  nigger  men." 


Family  Ties  245 

Vinegar  drew  a  corncob  pipe  from  his  pocket 
and  took  a  long  time  to  light  it,  while  his  atten- 
tion seemed  to  be  concentrated  upon  a  row  of  dead 
trees  whose  snaggy  branches  were  visible  on  the 
Little  Mocassin  Ridge,  four  miles  away. 

Shin  fidgeted  and  twiddled  his  thumbs.  Finally 
he  reached  down  at  his  feet  for  his  wool  hat,  and 
began  to  gnaw  at  its  brim,  as  if  he  were  starving  to 
death.  He  had  chewed  nearly  around  the  circuit 
of  the  brim  before  Vinegar  took  his  eyes  off  the 
old  dead  trees;  and  even  then  Vinegar  merely 
looked  at  him  and  said  nothing. 

**Yes,  suh,"  Shin  continued,  finding  it  easier  to 
talk  now  that  he  had  made  a  start.  "I  always 
believed  dat  Whiffle  wus  jes'  as  good  frien'  to  me 
as  a  wife  nachelly  gits  to  be,  but  now  I  done 
changed  my  mind." 

**Who  is  de  man  whut  runs  atter  her?"  Vinegar 
asked. 

"I  don't  know,  an'  I  cain't  find  out,"  Shin  re- 
sponded. "Of  co'se,  no  nigger  man  ain't  gwine 
come  to  see  her  when  I'm  hangin'  aroun'.  Who- 
ever is  courtin'  Whiffle  comes  to  de  back  door  of 
de  resteraw  when  I'm  out  in  town  somewhar." 

*  *  Mebbe  it's  some  of  her  kinnery  dat  has  sneaked 
back  to  town  an'  ain't  hankerin'  to  be  perceived, 
especially  by  de  police." 

"It  couldn't  be  none  like  dat,"  Shin  replied. 
"Whiffle  ain't  got  but  one  kinfolks,  an'  dat  wus 
her  brudder.     Dat  brudder  is  plumb  absent  fer 


246  Family  Ties 

good  an'  all.  You  knows  whut  happened  to  him, 
don't  you?" 

"Naw,  suh,"  Vinegar  answered,  scraping  his 
head  with  the  palm  of  his  hand  to  stir  his  recol- 
lection. 

"It  come  to  pass  at  our  weddin',"  Shin  told 
him.  "Atter  we  got  hitched,  a  passel  of  niggers 
moseyed  over  to  our  house  to  wish  us  a  fussless 
married  life  an'  git  a  sasser  of  ice-cream  an'  cake. 
Us  soon  gobbled  up  our  vittles,  an'  I  gib  her  brud- 
der,  Pewter  Boone,  a  ten-dollar  bill  to  go  git  some 
more  eats.     He  went." 

"Well?"  Vinegar  snapped.  "Go  on  wid  de 
story." 

"Dat's  all,"  Shin  responded.  "As  I  tole  you. 
Pewter  went.  He  tuck  my  ten  dollars  an'  jes' 
nachelly  abandoned  me.  He  ain't  never  come 
back,  an'  I'm  got  a  hunch  dat  he's  gwine  till  yit." 

"I  don't  remember  when  dat  nigger  lived  in 
Tickfall  at  all,"  Vinegar  said. 

"He  didn't  live  here,"  Shin  said  impatiently » 
"He  got  his  raisin'  in  N'Awleens.  Jes'  dropped 
in  day  o'  the  weddin'  an'  then  dropped  out  before 
I  even  took  time  to  get  a  good  look  at  him.  But 
dat  Pewter  nigger  ain't  got  nothin'  to  do  wid  dis. 
Us  is  done  side-tracked  an'  got  off  de  subjeck." 

"Whut  does  you  want  me  to  do?"  Vinegar 
asked. 

"Keep  yo'  eye  out  fer  me,  an'  find  out  who  dat 
nigger  is  whut  hangs  aroun'  Whiffle." 


Family  Ties  247 

**Naw,  suh,"  Vinegar  said  promptly.  "I  don't 
monkey  wid  no  love  scrapes.  I'm  a  exput  in  givin' 
religious  advices,  but  I  ain't  no  mattermony-fixer. 
I  declines. " 

**Who  muss  I  take  my  troubles  to?"  Shin  asked 
desperately. 

"Tell  yo'  sorrers  to  de  barkeep,"  Vinegar 
chuckled.  ' '  You  knows  as  well  as  I  do  dat  Skeeter 
Butts  is  de  exput  mattermony-fixer  of  dis  town." 

Shin  placed  his  hat  on  his  head  and  stood  up. 

*'I  aimed  to  ax  Skeeter,  too,  Rev'un,  but  I  de- 
cided to  come  to  see  you  fust." 

' '  Dat  wus  right, ' '  Vinegar  applauded.  *  *  I  loves 
to  git  fusters  on  eve'y  scandal  in  town." 

II 

When  Shin  Bone  revealed  his  trouble  to  Skeeter 
Butts,  the  situation  delighted  the  very  soul  of  the 
barkeeper. 

"At  de  fust  off-startin',  my  notion  is  dat  a  lot 
of  hongry  niggers  is  hangin'  aroun'  yo'  kitchen  beg- 
gin'  fer  free  vittles,"  he  told  Shin.  "Whiffle  ain't 
figgerin'  on  bustin'  up  her  happy  home  by  runnin* 
off  wid  some  yuther  nigger  man.  I  know  she  ain't 
got  no  husbunt  to  brag  on,  but  she  done  de  best 
she  could  at  de  time,  an'  husbunts  ain't  improved 
so  much  dat  she  aims  to  lop  you  off." 

'  *  Kin  you  kinder  watch  aroun'  an'  see  who  it  is 
dat's  hangin'  aroun'  de  kitchen?"  Shin  asked. 


248  Family  Ties 

**Why  don't  you  do  yo'  own  watchin'?" 

"I  cain't  git  close  enough  to  see.'* 

"Stay  fur  away  an'  look,"  Skeeter  suggested. 

He  rose,  walked  around  the  bar,  and  brought  out 
a  pair  of  army  field-glasses  enclosed  in  a  leather 
case.  They  were  handsome  things.  He  adjusted 
the  lenses  to  his  vision,  handed  them  to  Shin  Bone 
and  indicated  an  old  tree  whose  dead  limbs  pointed 
upward  like  the  fingers  of  a  gnarled  and  twisted 
hand  in  the  Little  Mocassin  Swamp,  three  miles 
away.  Shin  placed  the  glasses  to  his  eyes  and 
uttered  a  yell  of  surprise. 

' '  My  Lawd ! "  he  exclaimed.  *  *  I  see  a  red-head 
woodpecker  settin'  on  one  of  dem  limbs!" 

**Suttinly,"  Skeeter  said.  "You  kin  look  jes* 
as  fur  as  you  wants  to  when  you  look  through  dem 
glasses." 

"I  ain't  aimin'  to  see  no  furder  dan  a  suttin 
nigger  man,"  Shin  replied.  "Atter  I  see  who 
WhiiHe's  beau  is,  I  expecks  to  git  a  little  closer." 

"How  close?"  Skeeter  grinned. 

*  *  Close  enough  to  shoot  at  dat  nigger  six  times ; 
an'  ef  I  has  bad  luck  an'  misses  wid  all  dem  shots, 
I's  gwine  throw  brickbats  at  him  half  an  hour," 
Shin  told  his  counselor. 

"All  you  got  to  do  is  to  borrer  dem  glasses  an' 
keep  yo'  eye  on  de  kitchen." 

"Whar  would  be  a  good  place  to  hide  while  I 
watches?" 

In  his  mind,  Skeeter  took  a  survey  of  all  the 


Family  Ties  249 

surrounding  country  before  he  offered  a  sugges- 
tion. Finally  he  pointed  to  a  tree  half-way  across 
the  town,  on  a  little  hill,  and  said : 

**Ef  you  climb  up  in  dat  tree  an*  hide  yo'se'f  in 
de  leaves,  I  figgers  dat  you  will  hab  a  straight  line 
to  look  right  at  yo'  kitchen  door.  Ef  I  wus  you, 
I'd  go  out  to  dat  tree  right  now  an'  take  a  look  wid 
dese  glasses." 

"  I'll  shore  try  dat  on ! "  Shin  exclaimed.  ' ' Does 
dese  here  glasses  b'long  to  you?'* 

"Naw.  Dey  ain't  really  mine,  but  I'll  lend  you 
de  loant  of  'em,"  Skeeter  said.  "A  feller  come 
to  dis  saloon  an'  borrered  some  money,  an'  lef 
dese  here  spy-glasses  fer  s'curity.  So,  of  co*se, 
dey  is  mine  ontil  he  fetches  back  de  money  whut 
he  borrered.'* 

Ill 

Shin  went  out  to  the  tree  that  Skeeter  had  indi- 
cated, seated  himself  among  the  branches,  and 
directed  his  vision  to  the  kitchen  door  of  his  res- 
taurant. So  powerful  were  the  lenses  that  it 
seemed  to  him  that  the  door  was  only  ten  feet 
away. 

First  appeared  the  Rev.  Vinegar  Atts.  Whiffle 
sat  upon  the  steps  and  talked  to  him  for  some 
time,  much  to  Shin's  disgust. 

**Dat  ole  fat  fool  said  he  wam't  gwine  to  butt 
into  my  fambly  scandal,"  Shin  grumbled.     **I 


250  Family  Ties 

knowed  he  couldn't  keep  hisse'f  out.  He  sniffs 
aroun*  atter  yuther  people's  sins  like  a  smell- 
dog!" 

Some  minutes  later  he  brought  his  glasses  again 
to  bear  upon  the  kitchen,  and  was  disgusted  to 
find  Skeeter  Butts  on  the  steps. 

**Dat  nigger  oughter  hab  sense  enough  to  keep 
away  from  dar,"  he  grumbled.  "He  oughter 
watch  when  he  knows  I  ain't  watchin'." 

Shin's  perch  in  the  tree  became  very  uncomfort- 
able before  Skeeter  left.  Then  his  long  waiting  was 
rewarded. 

A  strange  man  came  to  the  kitchen  door,  and 
Whiffle  rushed  out  to  meet  him  with  every  mani- 
festation of  delight.  They  sat  down  together,  and 
Whiffle  left  no  doubt  in  the  mind  of  her  jealous, 
watchful  husband  that  she  was  enamored  of  this 
new  negro. 

For  more  than  an  hour  Shin  hardly  took  the 
glasses  off  the  man's  face.  For  a  while  he  had  the 
idea  that  he  had  seen  the  visitor  somewhere  be- 
fore, but  this  impression  gradually  vanished. 

He  decided  that  the  stranger  was  a  city  negro, 
because  of  his  easy  manners.  His  quick-moving 
lips  showed  that  he  spoke  readily,  and  he  carried 
himself  in  a  way  that  suggested  a  soldier.  He  had 
typical  Ethiopian  features,  and  was  what  the 
negroes  call  "brown-skin." 

' '  Dat  is  one  of  dese  perch-mouthed  city  niggers 
wid  big  ideas  an'  small  judgment,"  Shin  grumbled 


Family  Ties  251 

as  he  climbed  down  from  the  tree.  "I  think  I'm 
done  watchin'  him  to-day.  I'll  climb  up  here  an' 
hab  a  little  session  wid  dat  nigger  to-morrer." 

When  he  got  back  to  his  place  of  business  he 
found  Whiffle  just  as  she  had  been  for  several  days, 
bubbling  over  with  excitement  and  laughter,  her 
nerves  atingle  with  some  great  secret. 

**Whut  ails  you.  Whiffle?"  he  growled.  "You 
ack  like  you  done  seen  about  seben  angels  or  had 
about  'leven  drams.  I  ain't  had  nothin'  to  perk 
me  up  like  you  is." 

'*I  don't  tell  eve'y thing  I  knows,  Shinny,"  she 
laughed,  all  unconscious  of  the  clouds  of  jealousy 
which  had  gathered  over  him  like  a  storm  above 
a  mountain  peak.  "A  nigger  husbunt  hadn't 
oughter  know  too  much." 

''Why  oughtn't  dey  know  too  much?"  Shin 
snapped. 

"Because  dey's  apt  to  lead  deir  wives  a  dance," 
Whiffle  snickered. 

"Huh!"  Shin  grunted.  "I's  like  a  jackass— I 
ain't  got  no  year  fer  music  an'  no  foot  fer  dancin' ! " 

Then  he  went  and  loaded  his  pistol  and  slipped 
it  into  the  pocket  of  his  coat. 

IV 

When  Shin  described  to  Skeeter  Butts  the 
strange  man  he  had  seen  at  the  kitchen  door, 
Skeeter  evinced  great  surprise. 


252  Family  Ties 

'  *  Dat's  de  picture  of  de  man  whut  borrered  some 
money  from  me  an'  gib  me  dem  spy-glasses  fer 
s'curity!"  Skeeter  exclaimed.  *'You  is  spyin'  on 
dat  man  wid  his  own  spy-glasses." 

''Ef  you'll  borrer  dat  nigger's  pistol,  I'll  shoot 
him  wid  his  own  gun,"  Shin  said. 

''You  git  dat  shootin'  notion  off'n  yo'  mind!" 
Skeeter  snapped.  "  Dar  is  bigger  fish  in  de  bayou 
dan  you  ever  fried  in  yo'  resteraw,  an'  dar  is  better 
nigger  women  in  de  worl'  dan  dat  blockhead 
Whiffle  gal  you's  got  in  yo'  kitchen." 

"She  suits  me,  an'  ef  anybody  tries  to  git  her 
dar's  a  right  smart  chance  fer  fun'rals!" 

''Mebbe  so,"  Skeeter  said;  "but  she  ain't  wuth 
fightin'  fer,  especially  when  a  fight  will  land  you 
in  de  jail-house." 

"Mebbe  I  kin  think  up  some  yuther  way  to 
chase  dat  nigger  out  of  town,"  Shin  said:  "but 
de  best  way  I  knows  of  now  is  to  shoot  at  him  till 
he  gits  good  an'  skeart,  an'  den  throw  rocks." 

'  *  Dat's  de  favoryte  nigger  way  of  chasin'  coons," 
Skeeter  agreed;  "but  don't  git  to  shootin'  an' 
throwin'  ontil  I  tells  you  to.  Ef  dar  ain't  no  bet- 
ter way  to  disperse  dat  nigger,  mebbe  I'll  he'p  you 
wid  a  few  bricks  myself." 

When  Shin  had  gone,  Skeeter  hastened  to  the 
restaurant  and  called  Whiffle  out. 

"Shin  Bone  is  got  jealous  about  dat  new  nigger 
whut  hangs  aroun'  yo'  kitchen,  Whiffle.  I  ain't 
know  his  name,  but  you  knows  him.     Shin  has 


Family  Ties  253 

already  cleant  and  oilt  his  gun,  an'  is  warmin'  up 
fer  activations.  We  don't  need  no  fust-class  killin* 
in  dis  town,  so  you  better  stressify  to  dat  coon 
whut  is  comin'  to  him  an'  'suade  him  to  git  out." 

**Is  Shin  a  pretty  good  shooter?"  Whiffle  asked. 

"He  is  de  wuss  shooter  in  dis  town,"  Skeeter 
told  her.  "He  cain't  possibly  hit  nothin'  but  a 
innercent  standby er,  an'  dat  would  be  a  luck  shot." 

"Ef  dat's  de  case,  dar  ain't  no  danger,"  Whiffle 
said  easily.     "He  never  will  shoot  at  nobody." 

"When  a  nigger  gits  jealousy,  he  goes  crazy  in 
his  head,  an'  he's  liable  to  do  mighty  nigh  any- 
thing," Skeeter  said  earnestly. 

"I'll  take  keer  of  Shinny,"  Whiffle  laughed. 
"I's  mighty  glad  you  tole  me,  so  I'll  know  whut 
to  do." 

Skeeter  returned  to  the  saloon,  and  half  an  hour 
later  the  strange  negro  who  was  owner  of  the  field- 
glasses  came  in. 

"Skeeter,  I  wants  to  gib  a  free  show  at  de  nigger 
picnic-groun'  on  de  Cooley  bayou  dis  atternoon. 
I  invites  eve'ybody,  but  I  'specially  wants  you 
an'  Vinegar  Atts,  an'  I  would  like  to  hab  a  nigger 
named  Shin  Bone." 

"How  come  you  pick  out  such  a  crowd  as  dat 
fer  special  eye-witnersers  ? "  Skeeter  asked. 

"A  preacher,  a  saloon-keeper,  an'  a  resteraw 
man,"  the  stranger  smiled.  "A  bunch  like  dat  is 
able  to  supply  all  human  needs." 

"It  'pears  to  me  like  you  also  needs  a  doctor 


254  ,    Family  Ties 

an'  a  undertaker,'*  Skeeter  remarked;  "but  of  co'se 
you  knows  yo'  own  bizzness  best." 

"You'll  know  my  bizzness  better  at  de  picnic- 
groun',"  the  stranger  returned. 

"Us  will  be  dar  at  three  o'clock." 


A  great  crowd  assembled  at  the  picnic-ground. 
The  three  men  specially  invited  were  sitting  under 
a  tree,  smoking  and  waiting.  The  showman  came 
promptly  on  time,  and  shook  hands  with  the  three, 
but  did  not  offer  to  tell  his  name. 

"Whut  name  does  dey  call  you  by?"  Vinegar 
asked. 

"I  ain't  got  no  name,"  the  negro  grinned. 

"Dat's  strange!"  Vinegar  muttered.  "I'll  call 
you  Stranger,  fer  shawt." 

Stranger  carried  a  heavy  sack,  and  he  now  untied 
the  top  and  poured  the  contents  upon  the  ground. 
There  were  two  or  three  dozen  marbles,  such  as 
children  use  in  their  games;  there  were  a  dozen 
or  more  small  apples,  about  a  dozen  empty  pop- 
bottles,  and  several  dozen  tops  of  small  tin  cans. 

"I's  a  pistol-shooter,"  the  stranger  announced. 
"Ef  you  misdoubts  my  confession,  jes'  take  a 
look." 

He  tossed  an  apple  above  his  head;  quickly  he 
tossed  two  more,  juggling  them  in  the  air.  Sud- 
denly from  somewhere  he  drew  a  big  pistol,  shot 


Family  Ties  255 

three  times  with  startHng  quickness,  and  the 
shattered  apples  dropped  at  his  feet. 

There  are  men  who  are  born  wi,th  the  strange 
gift  of  demonstrating  that  the  hand  is  quicker 
than  the  eye.  In  civiHzed  sections  of  the  country- 
men so  gifted  are  sleight-of-hand  performers;  in 
other  sections,  less  civilized,  they  become  card- 
sharps,  with  the  ability  to  "pitch  a  good  game" 
and  deal  themselves  cards  from  the  bottom  of  the 
deck;  in  still  other  sections,  they  become  expert 
gunmen  whose  skill  as  marksmen  is  a  wonder  to 
behold. 

The  Tickfall  crowd  stood  breathlessly  watching 
the  juggler  of  bottles,  apples,  marbles.  He  tossed 
pop-bottles  in  the  air,  and  while  they  were  spin- 
ning he  shot  through  the  neck  of  the  bottle  and 
broke  the  bottom  to  pieces  without  injuring  the 
neck.  He  threw  up  the  tin  tops  of  the  pop-bottles, 
and  unerringly  shot  through  the  center  of  each.  He 
tossed  the  apples  into  the  air,  and  shattered  them 
with  bullets.  He  threw  marbles  three  at  a  time 
above  his  head,  and  they  came  down  in  dust. 

There  was  one  man  on  whom  this  exhibition 
made  a  deep  impression.  Shin  Bone  had  bragged 
his  brags  about  chasing  that  very  darky  out  of 
town  by  shooting  at  him  and  throwing  rocks.  He 
now  abandoned  his  idea.  That  was  certainly  not 
the  way  to  rid  Tickfall  of  the  presence  of  the 
dangerous  stranger. 

When  the  exhibition   was   over,   the  stranger 


256  Family  Ties 

turned  to  the  three  men  who  were  especially  in- 
vited and  said: 

*'I'm  much  obleeged  to  you  niggers  fer  comin' 
out  to  de  show.  I  would  like  to  walk  back  to 
town  wid  you-alls,  but  I  ain't  gwine  dat  way." 

"You  shore  is  a  shooter,  brudder!"  Skeeter  ex- 
claimed. ''Ef  you  ain't  gwine  our  way,  us'U  see 
you  later." 

As  the  three  walked  back  to  town,  Shin  said 
thoughtfully : 

''Skeeter,  I  think  you  wus  right  when  you  said 
not  to  hab  no  shootin'  scrape  about  Whiffle.  De 
way  I  feels  now,  ef  dat  Stranger  nigger  is  gwine 
shoot  fer  my  wife,  he  kin  jes'  take  her  along  'thout 
no  good  objections  from  me!" 

VI 

"Looky  here,  Skeeter,"  Vinegar  Atts  an- 
nounced, when  they  got  back  to  the  Hen-Scratch 
saloon.  "Somepin  is  got  to  be  did  fer  Shin  Bone. 
Us  cain't  let  dat  Stranger  run  off  wid  Shin's  wife. 
It's  ag'in'  conscience  an'  religion." 

**How  we  gwine  chase  him?"  Skeeter  asked, 
glancing  pityingly  at  Shin's  gloomy  face.  * '  Skeeter 
cain't  think  up  no  scheme  to  apply  to  him.  He 
don't  'pear  to  be  skeart  to  shoot  it  out  wid  no- 
body." 

*'Dar  is  spmepin  or  yuther  dat  eve'y  nigger  in 
de  worl'  is  skeart  of,  fellers,"  Vinegar  declared. 


Family  Ties  257 

"Less  find  out  whut  dat  coon's  pertickler  skeer  is, 
an'  put  it  on  him." 

"How  we  gwine  find  out?"  Shin  asked. 

There  was  no  answer  to  this  inquiry,  and  the 
three  sat  silent  for  a  long  time,  smoking  their  pipes 
in  gloomy  meditation.  At  last  Vinegar  sprang  to 
his  feet  with  a  yell. 

"I  got  it!"  he  howled.  "A  nigger  is  skeart  of 
anything  dat  he  don't  know  nothin*  about.  Dead 
folks,  pest-houses,  ha'nts,  bein'  all  by  yo'  lonely  in 
de  dark,  hospitals — niggers  is  skeart  of  all  dem 
things,  because  us  don't  know  nothin*  about  'em. 
You  cain't  ax  none  of  dem  things  a  decent  question 
an'  git  a  respeckful  respondence." 

"Whut  is  dat  Stranger  nigger  igernunt  about?" 
Shin  asked,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  hope. 

' '  Pigs ! ' '  Vinegar  howled.  * '  Is  you  niggers  done 
fergot  dat  Marse  Tom  pulls  off  his  big  pig  drive 
to-morrer?" 

"Dat  don't  he'p  us  none,"  Skeeter  said  dis- 
dainfully. 

"It  do!"  Vinegar  declared.  "Us'll  git  Marse 
Tom  to  put  dat  exput-shootin'  nigger  at  de 
shootin'-post,  an'  when  he  sees  dem  wild  pigs 
swoopin'  down  on  him,  he'll  jes'  nachelly  sprout  a 
couple  o'  feathers  an'  fly  away  from  dar.  Dem 
hawgs  will  run  him  plumb  to  de  Gulf  of  Mexico." 

"I  gitcher!"  Skeeter  exclaimed.  "Yo'  mind  is 
suttinly  popped  off  a  noble  idear.  Less  go  see 
Marse  Tom.'* 


258  Family  Ties 

The  most  interesting  event  of  the  year  in  Tick- 
fall  is  the  wild-hog  hunt.  Gaitskill  owned  the 
Little  Moccasin  Swamp,  and  he  had  let  hundreds 
of  hogs  run  wild  in  that  jungle  and  shift  for  them- 
selves. They  lived  on  the  mast  and  traversed  the 
forest  in  bands  of  a  hundred  or  more.  They  never 
fattened,  being  of  the  razorback  variety ;  but  they 
furnished  plenty  of  cheap  pork  every  year  for  the 
hundreds  of  negroes  employed  on  the  Gaitskill 
plantations. 

The  weather  was  cool,  and  the  time  had  come 
for  the  fall  drive.  There  had  been  no  rain  for 
months,  the  swamp  was  dry  underfoot,  and  a  great 
picnic  crowd  assembled  from  all  over  the  Parish. 

Hundreds  of  men  and  hundreds  of  dogs  spread 
out  across  the  swamp,  fan-shape,  making  every  sort 
of  a  noise  that  would  drive  the  hogs  before  them 
to  a  point  near  the  Gaitskill  hog  camp.  Here 
Little  Moccasin  Lake  upon  one  side  and  Alligator 
Lake  upon  the  other  were  divided  by  a  narrow 
ridge  of  land,  where  the  slaughter  of  the  animals 
would  take  place. 

In  the  slaughter  of  the  hogs  care  was  exercised 
not  to  kill  the  big  fighting  males.  They  were 
the  leaders  of  the  herd,  and  when  they  led  in  a 
fight  for  the  protection  of  the  females  or  the  young, 
everything  cleared  out  of  their  path  as  before  the 
onrush  of  an  express  train.  The  females  were 
also  protected.  The  young  male  hogs  were  slain, 
their  flesh  being  tender  and  easily  made  into  hams, 


Family  Ties  259 

bacon,  and  salt  shoulders  for  food  on  the  planta- 
tion. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  dangerous  games  ever 
played  in  the  Little  Moccasin  Swamp.  Some  of 
the  big  male  hogs  are  six  feet  long  and  four  feet 
high.  They  travel  with  the  speed  of  a  race-horse, 
and  have  the  fighting  instincts  of  a  tiger.  From 
their  lower  jaws  great,  ugly  tusks  protrude.  They 
can  run  at  full  speed  past  a  horse,  and  by  an  up- 
ward thrust  of  that  lower  jaw  can  split  the  flesh 
of  the  animal's  leg  as  if  cut  by  a  razor,  or  dis- 
embowel him  completely. 

A  man  in  the  midst  of  a  fighting  herd  is  helpless. 
When  he  hears  an  old  sow  pop  her  jaws,  or  sees 
her  coming  through  the  underbrush  with  a  swinish 
roar,  he  will  climb  a  prickly  ash-tree  or  jump  into 
a  vat  of  tar  to  escape. 

As  the  herd  on  this  day  was  hedged  in  between 
the  lakes  and  driven  forward,  the  men  heard  be- 
fore them,  at  the  point  where  the  slaughter  was  to 
be,  the  crack,  crack,  of  a  rifle.  When  at  last  the 
entire  crowd  had  converged  at  the  shooting-post, 
they  found  a  strange  negro  standing  with  dozens 
of  dead  hogs  around  him.  A  dozen  rifles  were 
resting  upon  the  top  of  a  stump  by  his  side;  and 
as  the  young  pigs  rushed  past  him  he  raised  a  gun 
with  a  careless  gesture,  fired  with  seeming  indif- 
ference but  with  absolute  accuracy,  and  at  each 
shot  a  young  hog  rolled  over  with  a  broken  neck. 

The  men  watched  this  exhibition  of  sharpshoot- 


26o  Family  Ties 

ing  with  great  astonishment.  The  marksman 
never  seemed  to  take  aim,  and  yet  never  missed. 
Just  as  a  man  can  reach  up  and  put  his  finger  on 
his  nose,  so  this  man  could  put  a  bullet  through 
the  neck  of  a  running  hog  and  think  nothing  of  it. 

In  a  little  while  nearly  two  hundred  hogs  were 
waiting  for  the  knife  of  the  butcher.  Everybody 
lent  a  hand  in  the  job  of  dressing  them  and  load- 
ing them  into  wagons  for  their  trip  back  to  town. 

Vinegar  Atts,  Skeeter  Butts,  and  Shin  Bone 
worked  together.  They  spent  a  great  deal  of 
their  time  in  low-toned  conversation. 

* '  I  figgered  dem  wild  hawgs  would  chase  dat  nig- 
ger off'n  de  top  of  de  world,'*  Vinegar  lamented  as 
he  glanced  malevolently  toward  the  stranger,  who 
was  sitting  beside  a  stump,  smoking  a  cigarette. 

**It  didn't  pester  him  at  all,"  Skeeter  sighed. 
"He  looked  like  he  enjoyed  hisse'f  real  good. 
Reckon  how  come  dat  nigger  didn't  git  in  de  army, 
when  he  kin  fight  an'  shoot  so  good?" 

"De  only  way  to  skeer  dat  nigger  is  to  take  his 
guns  away  from  him,"  Shin  remarked.  "He  feels 
powerful  secure  when  he's  got  a  gun,  an'  I  feels — 
otherwise." 

"Me,  too,"  Vinegar  agreed.  "An'  I  bet  he 
sleeps  wid  dem  guns  on  his  pusson!" 

Before  the  day  was  over,  the  marksman  had 
been  so  loudly  proclaimed  by  the  white  men  for 
his  skill  that  the  negroes  were  feeling  proud  of 
this  representative  of  their  race  and  color. 


Family  Ties  261 

The  negro  women  of  Tickfall  had  prepared  a 
great  dinner  at  the  hog  camp.  While  the  negroes 
were  eating,  the  distinguished  stranger  suddenly- 
left  the  side  of  Whiffle  Bone  and  walked  around 
the  table  to  where  Shin  Bone  was  standing  with 
Atts  and  Skeeter  Butts. 

Shin  saw  him  coming,  and  turned  almost  white. 
When  the  stranger  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket, 
Shin  bleached  some  more;  but  the  stranger  ex- 
tended toward  Shin  Bone  not  a  gun,  but  a  ten- 
dollar  bill! 

"I  owes  you  dis  ten-dollar  bill.  Shinny,*'  he  said, 
loud  enough  for  everybody  to  hear. 

**I  ain't  sold  you  nothin',**  Shin  said,  shaking 
his  head  and  declining  the  proffered  ciirrency. 

* '  Naw,  suh,  but  you  loant  me  dis  money  a  good 
many  year  ago,  when  you  got  married,"  the 
stranger  replied.  * '  You  bestowed  dis  loose  change 
on  me  to  buy  some  ice-cream  an'  cake  fer  yo'  wed- 
din',  an'  I  rambled  up-town  an'  got  in  a  little  crap- 
game,  an'  dem  bones  didn't  fall  right  fer  me.  I 
lost  yo'  money,  an'  I  decided  I  better  make  myse'f 
absent." 

"My  Lawd!"  Shin  Bone  exclaimed,  reaching 
for  the  money.  "Is  you  Whiffle's  long-lost 
brudder?" 

' '  Suttinly , ' '  the  gunman  answered.  *  *  My  name 
is  Pewter  Boone,  an'  I  jes'  got  back  from  whar  we 
fit  de  Kaiser." 

"Fer  Gawd's  sake,  how  come  you  didn't  tell  me 


262  Family  Ties 

who  you  wus  a  whole  heap  sooner?"  Shin  ex- 
claimed. 

"I  did  tell  Whiffle,"  Pewter  replied;  "but  I 
wus  ashamed  to  'fess  up  to  you  onless  I  had  de 
money  to  pay  you  back.  Soldiers  of  dis  here 
gover'mint  don't  do  like  I  done — dey  is  true  to 
deir  trust.  I  borrered  de  money  from  Skeeter  an* 
gib  him  some  spy-glasses  fer  s'curity,  an'  waited 
till  I  got  me  a  job.  Now  I  pays  up  an'  squares  off 
wid  de  worl'." 

Colonel  Tom  Gaitskill  came  up  at  this  moment 
and  announced : 

**Boys,  Pewter  Boone  is  the  new  superintendent 
of  the  hog  camp.  Isaiah  is  too  old,  and  I  hired 
Pewter  to-day." 

Shin  Bone  threw  his  arms  around  the  new  super- 
intendent and  expressed  his  delight  in  vociferous 
tones.  Whiffle  came  over  and  joined  them  in  the 
jubilation.  The  news  quickly  spread,  and  all  the 
negroes  in  Tickfall  welcomed  the  soldier. 

"Look  here,  brudder,"  Vinegar  Atts  bellowed. 
"Us  niggers  gib  Marse  Tom  de  recommend  whut 
got  you  de  job  of  killin'  dem  hawgs.  We  knowed 
you  could  shoot  'em  all  right,  but  we  didn't  expeck 
you  would.  We  figgered  when  you  perceived  dem 
hawgs  a  comin'  through  de  brush,  you'd  skedaddle." 

"Huh!"  Pewter  grunted.  "I  don't  skeer  so 
awful  easy.  All  dem  growlin',  gruntin'  hawgs 
reminded  my  mind  of  dem  Bush  Germuns.  I  jes' 
nachelly  craved  to  'liminate  'em!" 


The   Ten-Share  Horse 


A  WHITE  man  entered  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon 
and  sat  down  at  one  of  the  little  tables.  He  looked 
around  him  curiously.  The  glory  of  the  Hen- 
Scratch  had  departed.  Nothing  remained  of  the 
saloon  but  its  name.  There  was  dust  upon  the 
tables.  The  mirror  behind  the  bar  was  written 
all  over  with  the  unedifying  literature  of  soft 
drinks.  There  were  no  patrons  in  the  place.  A 
little  yellow  barkeeper  was  wiping  glasses  and  try- 
ing to  arrange  grape-juice  bottles  in  an  enticing 
array  upon  his  shelves,  glancing  up  from  his  task 
at  intervals  to  gaze  into  the  tragic  face  of  Abra- 
ham Lincoln,  which  looked  out  from  a  fly-specked 
frame  hung  crookedly  upon  the  wall. 

Skeeter  Butts  laid  down  a  bottle  which  con- 
tained one  of  the  softest  of  soft  drinks,  came  from 
behind  the  bar,  and  murmtired  politely  into  the 
ear  of  the  white  man : 

'*Us  ain't  sellin'  no  drinks  to  white  men,  boss. 
Endurin'  of  de  barroom  time,  it  wusn*t  allowed. 
De  law  made  us  hab  sep'rate  barrooms  fer  de 

263 


264         The  Ten-Share  Horse 

whites  an*  blacks.  Dar  ain*t  no  saloons  no  mo', 
but " 

"I  ain't  buying  drinks,"  the  white  man  an- 
swered. "I  have  no  money,  no  credit,  no  friends, 
no  business." 

''Escuse  me  fer  sayin'  it,  boss,"  Skeeter 
chuckled,  "but  dem  is  my  fixes,  an'  you  is  mighty 
nigh  as  bad  off  as  a  nigger." 

"I'm  worse  off  than  a  nigger,"  the  white  man 
responded,  and  he  seemed  to  get  a  lugubrious 
satisfaction  from  a  realization  of  the  fact.  *  *  More 
is  expected  of  my  race  than  of  yours." 

"Dat's  right,"  Skeeter  agreed.  "Dey  lets  us 
blacks  down  easy;  but  neither  de  whites  nor  de 
blacks  is  up  to  expectations." 

The  white  man  sat  for  a  while  in  deep  thought. 
Skeeter  noticed  that  the  top  of  his  head  was  over- 
developed, like  an  infant's;  that  his  fingers  were 
stained  with  cigarettes;  that  his  clothes  were  of 
good  material  but  badly  worn.  He  decided  that 
the  man  was  an  animated  slosh  in  the  desert  of 
total  abstinence,  mourning  the  demise  of  John 
Barleycorn,  and  hopefully  looking  for  a  damp 
cloud  on  the  horizon  in  the  shape  of  a  blind  tiger. 

Skeeter  returned  to  his  task  of  polishing  glasses 
and  wiping  his  bar,  the  habit  acquired  through 
twenty  years  of  service  to  men  who  put  one  foot 
upon  the  brass  rail.  Meantime  he  watched  the 
stranger  from  the  corner  of  his  eyes,  and  when  the 
silence  was  prolonged  he  became  nervous  and 


The  Ten-Share  Horse         265 

fidgety.  At  last  the  man  came  to  the  bar  and 
spoke. 

"Can  you  lend  me  ten  dollars?" 

In  all  Skeeter's  varied  career  no  such  request 
had  ever  been  uttered  in  his  astonished  ears. 
Skeeter  wondered  if  this  extraordinary  thing  was 
attributable  to  prohibition.  Surely  the  old  order 
changeth! 

"I  ain't  know  yo'  favor  or  yo'  face,  an'  I  ain't 
met  de  'quaintance  of  yo'  name,  boss,"  Skeeter 
replied. 

"My  name  is  Dick  Nuhat,"  the  white  man  re- 
sponded promptly.  "I  am  not  altogether  an 
honest  man,  but  I  am  a  gentleman.  This  is  a 
request  of  one  gentleman  to  another." 

"I  likes  to  'commodate  white  gentlemens,  boss," 
Skeeter  said  uneasily;  "but  I  ain't  got  de  ten  dol- 
lars, an'  so  I  cain't  affode  to  lend  it." 

Without  a  word  the  man  turned  away,  walked 
back  to  the  table,  and  sat  down.  Once  more 
there  was  a  period  of  silence  and  deep  meditation, 
while  a  nervous  colored  man  polished  glasses  and 
watched  the  white  man  from  the  corner  of  his  eye. 
Mr.  Nuhat  had  the  trick  of  sitting  as  motionless 
as  a  stone  dog  on  a  lawn,  while  even  his  eyes  were 
fixed  in  a  stony  stare,  oblivious  to  what  went  on 
around  him  and  looking  out  across  the  spaces 
unseeingly. 

"Dope!"  Skeeter  muttered  to  himself;  but 
Skeeter  was  wrong. 


266         The  Ten-Share  Horse 

There  was  twenty  minutes  of  this  ponderous 
thinking,  and  then  the  man  came  to  Skeeter  and 
made  a  proposition. 

"I've  got  one  thing  I  can  sell,  Skeeter.  I  rode 
to  town  on  a  horse  that  is  worth  one  hundred 
dollars,  intending  to  take  him  to  Shongaloon,  to 
enter  him  in  the  races  at  the  fair;  but  I  am  broke. 
If  you  had  lent  me  the  ten  dollars  I  would  have 
gone  on;  but  now,  if  I  went,  I  would  have  no 
money  to  bet.  So  I  am  going  to  sell  and  go  out  of 
the  racing  business." 

"You  don't  talk  like  no  race-hoss  man  to  me," 
Skeeter  said. 

"I  ain't  a  race-horse  man,"  was  the  reply.  **I 
am  a  scholar  and  a  gentleman. ' ' 

"I  ain't  got  no  hundred  dollars,"  Skeeter  Butts 
said  next.  "Dar  ain't  no  nigger  in  dis  town  wid 
dat  much  money  in  one  lump.  You'll  have  to  sell 
out  to  de  white  folks." 

"Couldn't  you  find  ten  colored  people  who  had 
ten  dollars  each?"  the  white  man  asked.  "All 
ten  of  you  can  own  the  horse,  and  when  you  make 
a  win  you  can  divide  your  earnings." 

"What  kind  of  hoss  you  got?"  Skeeter  asked 
^  /ith  a  new  interest. 

"He's  a  hard  looker,  Skeeter.  He's  a  hound 
dog.  He  limps  in  all  four  feet,  but  not  in  all  at  the 
same  time,  you  know.  He  swaps  from  one  foot 
to  the  other.  Every  time  he  stops  he  goes  lame 
in  a  different  foot,  because  he  can't  remember 


The  Ten-Share  Horse  267 

which  foot  he  was  Hmping  on  before.  He  has  an 
awful  short  memory  that  way.  You  never  can 
tell  what  foot  he  is  going  to  cripple  in  next,  and  he 
don't  know  himself." 

''Dat's  a  kind  of  trick  hoss,"  Skeeter  snickered. 

'  *  Exactly, ' '  Dick  agreed.  '  *  I  can  make  a  killing 
with  him  at  every  race-track,  for  one  look  at  him 
is  aplenty.  I  can  get  all  sorts  of  odds  against 
him;  but  don't  make  any  mistake,  little  yeller 
nigger — that  horse  can  run!" 

"Dat  sounds  good  to  me,"  Skeeter  replied  after 
a  moment's  thought.  "How  much  do  I  git  fer 
makin'  de  trade?" 

"Get  nine  negroes  to  give  you  ten  dollars  each 
for  the  horse,  and  I'll  be  satisfied  with  the  ninety 
dollars.  That  will  give  you  a  ten-dollar  share  in 
the  animal  without  costing  you  a  cent." 

' '  Kin  I  try  out  de  hoss  an'  see  if  he  is  all  right  ? " 
Skeeter  asked  eagerly. 

"Certainly." 

"All  right,  boss,"  Skeeter  replied.  "I'll  take 
you  up!" 

II 

Skeeter  staged  his  commercial  transaction  with 
some  forethought.  He  chose  nine  negroes  whom 
he  knew  to  be  possessed  of  ten  dollars  each,  and 
asked  them  to  meet  him  out  at  the  old  fair  grounds. 
He  got  Little  Bit,  who  was  the  colored  jockey  of 
Tickfall,  to  give  the  horse  a  try-out. 


268         The  Ten-Share  Horse 

In  appearance,  the  horse  was  all  the  white  man 
said  he  was,  and  more.  He  had  a  peculiar  slink- 
ing gait,  like  a  limp,  sometimes  in  one  foot,  then 
in  another.  Often  he  seemed  to  be  limping  in  all 
four  feet  at  the  same  time. 

The  negroes  howled  in  derision  when  Skeeter 
proposed  to  be  one  of  ten  to  buy  the  animal.  They 
examined  his  feet  and  made  many  comments,  and 
finally  proposed  to  bet  Skeeter  ten  dollars  that  he 
could  not  tell  what  leg  the  horse  would  limp  on  the 
next  time  he  started  off. 

But  when  Little  Bit  climbed  on  that  horse  the 
negroes  stopped  laughing.  He  could  run  like  a 
jack-rabbit,  and  really  had  the  jack-rabbit's  pecu- 
liar springy,  limpy  gait. 

"  Dis  hoss  is  a  powerful  funny  pufformer,"  Conko 
Mukes  howled;  "but  I  puts  my  ten  on  him.  He's 
a  runner!" 

**  Who's  gwine  take  keer  of  dis  hoss  whut  be- 
longs to  us  ten  niggers?"  Pap  Curtain  inquired. 

*'I'll  keep  him  an'  feed  him,"  Skeeter  answered. 
**I  kin  turn  him  in  a  big  pasture  dat  belongs  to 
Marse  John  Flournoy,  an'  Marse  John  won't  ever 
know  he's  in  de  field.  I'll  feed  him  Marse  John's 
oats  and  corn,  an'  dat  white  man  won't  ever  miss 
it." 

Two  hours  later  Skeeter  returned  to  the  Hen- 
Scratch  and  handed  Mr.  Nuhat  the  sum  of  ninety 
dollars. 

"I  turned  de  hoss  in  de  pasture  back  of  de 


The  Ten-Share  Horse  269 

sheriff's  house,"  he  volunteered.  *'Part  of  de 
trade  wus  dat  I  wus  to  take  keer  of  de  hoss.  I 
reckin  de  tenth  part  dat  I  bought  is  de  part  whut 
eats." 

"Would  you  be  held  responsible  if  anything 
happened  to  the  animal?"  Nuhat  asked. 

''Not  onless  he  choked  to  death,"  Skeeter 
laughed.     *'I  jes'  takes  keer  of  de  eatin'  end." 

"I'm  sorry  I  could  not  go  on  to  Shongaloon,'* 
the  white  man  said  quietly.  "There's  a  lot  of 
good  money  to  be  picked  up  betting  on  that  horse 
at  the  races." 

"We'll  slick  him  up  an'  git  him  feelijn'  good  an* 
bet  on  him  some  our  self  s,"  Skeeter  said. 

"Don't  make  him  look  too  fit,"  Nuhat  warned 
him.  "That  horse's  looks  get  the  odds  against 
him.  Nobody  bets  against  something  that  looks 
like  a  winner." 

A  few  minutes  later  the  white  man  bought  a 
package  of  cigarettes  from  Skeeter  Butts,  thanked 
him  for  the  sale  of  the  horse,  and  walked  out. 

Until  midnight  Skeeter  was  alone  in  the  Hen- 
Scratch.  No  one  came  in  to  patronize  his  soft- 
drink  emporium.  The  man  was  in  the  depths  of 
despair.  His  place  had  always  been  the  popular 
hang-out  for  all  the  plain  loafers  and  fancy  sons  of 
rest.  Now  there  were  none  so  lazy  as  to  enter  a 
place  which  had  nothing  of  its  former  attractive- 
ness but  a  name. 

* '  De  niggers  avoids  dis  place  like  it  wus  a  pest- 


270         The  Ten-Share  Horse 

house,"  Skeeter  lamented  to  himself.  "Ef  I  had 
about  two  hundred  dollars  I  could  start  me  a 
movin' -picture  show  fer  colored  only  in  dis  little 
house,  an'  sell  soft  drinks  on  de  side.  Dat  would 
fotch  de  crowd  back,  an'  de  men  would  bring  de 
lady  folks,  an'  I  could  git  rid  of  a  lot  of  ice-cream 
combs  an'  things  like  dat." 

He  smoked  many  cigarettes,  lighting  a  fresh 
one  on  the  stub  of  each  old  one,  trying  to  think 
out  a  way  to  get  some  money  for  his  new 
enterprise. 

"Mebbe  I  could  work  some  kind  of  flim-flam 
wid  dat  boss,"  he  sighed.  ''But  I  cain't  make 
money  very  fast  ef  I  got  to  'vide  up  my  profits  by 
ten." 

It  had  never  occurred  to  Skeeter  to  question  the 
white  man's  ownership  of  that  horse,  nor  his  right 
to  dispose  of  it.  The  animal  looked  like  just  such 
an  old  skate  as  a  broken-down  race-horse  man 
would  own  at  the  end  of  his  track  career.  When 
a  horseman  retires  from  the  turf,  he  generally  has 
something  like  that  to  get  rid  of. 

Skeeter  did  not  get  to  his  home  on  Sheriff  John 
Flournoy's  premises  until  midnight.  He  did  not 
go  to  see  his  new  horse  until  the  next  morning  at 
feeding-time. 

When  he  went  to  the  pasture,  he  found  that  a  gap 
was  broken  in  the  fence  and  the  horse  was  gone. 

**We  better  hunt  dat  boss  befo'  he  gits  too  fur 
away,"  Skeeter  said  to  himself.     "I  reckin  he's 


The  Ten-Share  Horse         271 

gone  back  home ;  but  I  don't  know  whar  his  home 
is  at,  an'  I  ain't  know  which  way  to  look  fer  him." 

Two  hours  later  all  ten  owners  of  the  animal 
were  searching  for  him.  Such  a  task  was  hopeless 
at  the  start,  for  the  animal  could  go  into  the  swamp 
in  any  direction  around  Tickfall  and  disappear 
forever.  A  strange  animal,  like  a  strange  man, 
seldom  came  out  of  that  jungle  if  he  entered  it 
alone. 

The  ten  men  made  a  circle  of  the  town,  walking 
on  the  edge  of  the  swamp,  looking  for  tracks.  They 
were  experienced  in  reading  signs,  but  they  could 
not  find  a  place  where  an  animal  had  entered  the 
jungle.  Concluding  that  the  horse  had  kept  in 
some  beaten  path,  they  separated,  each  following 
a  winding  trail  in  the  great  hot-house  of  the  mo- 
rass, slimy  with  rusty-colored  oily  water,  and  all 
acrawl  with  repulsive  form  of  insect  and  animal 
life. 

At  noon  they  all  met  at  the  broken  place  in  the 
fence  where  the  horse  had  escaped.  The  ground 
was  soft,  and  yet  they  could  find  no  hoof -tracks 
leading  from  the  field  to  the  highroad. 

They  did  not  know  that  Dick  Nuhat  had  tied 
some  cotton  bagging  under  each  hoof  of  his  limpy 
horse  before  he  led  him  through  the  gap. 

About  ten  o'clock  that  night,  Conko  Mukes, 
entered  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon. 

''Skeeter,  I  come  to  git  my  money  back,"  he 
said.     *' I  done  decided  not  to  buy  no  race-hoss.'* 


272         The  Ten-Share  Horse 

"You  cain't  git  yo'  money  back,"  Skeeter  said. 
**De  white  man  took  all  our  dollars  wid  him,  an' 
now  our  hoss  done  eloped  away." 

"I  don't  know  no  white  man,"  Conko  Mukes 
said  belligerently.  "I  never  seen  no  white  man. 
I  ain't  saw  nobody  but  you,  didn't  make  no  trade 
wid  nobody  but  you,  an'  I  got  a  mighty  shawt  look 
at  dat  hoss  whut  I  paid  my  good  ten  dollars  fer. 
Now  I's  lookin'  to  you!" 

'*I  got  a  mighty  little  look,  too,"  Skeeter  said 
placatingly.  *'I  ain't  got  a  real  good  recollection 
of  whut  dat  hoss  looked  like.  I  ain't  real  shore 
I'd  know  him  in  de  road  ef  he  didn't  limp  none." 

'*I  ain't  buyin'  no  absent  hoss,"  Conko  said. 
*  *  I  want  my  money  back ! ' ' 

"But  de  white  man  is  got  our  money,"  Skeeter 
explained  again.  "You  won't  git  yo'  money  on- 
less  you  finds  de  white  man;  an'  he'll  be  harder  to 
find  dan  de  hoss.  You  had  a  look  at  de  hoss,  but 
you  never  saw  de  white  man  whut  sold  it." 

"I  ain't  seein'  nobody  but  you,"  Conko  Mukes 
remarked  in  a  hard  tone.  *  *  I  gived  you  my  money 
an'  you  tuck  it,  an'  you  is  de  mighty  nigh  white 
man  whut  is  got  to  give  it  back!" 

"I  ain't  got  no  money!"  Skeeter  Butts  wailed. 

"Git  it!"  Conko  Mukes  barked. 

With  this  command  he  drew  a  large  pistol  from 
a  holster  under  his  left  arm  and  laid  it  on  the  table 
with  the  business  end  pointing  toward  Skeeter 
Butts. 


The  Ten-Share  Horse         273 

Skeeter  turned  almost  white.  Conko  had  the 
reputation  of  having  killed  several  men,  and 
Skeeter  had  no  desire  to  be  commemorated  by  the 
next  notch  carved  on  the  butt  of  his  gun. 

He  rose  hastily  to  his  feet  and  started  toward 
the  little  safe  in  the  corner  of  the  barroom.  Conko 
followed  him,  his  big  gun  punching  at  a  spot 
between  Skeeter's  shoulder  blades,  which  turned 
cold  as  ice  from  the  contact  of  the  steel.  Conko 
was  not  sure  whether  Skeeter  was  going  after 
money  or  a  gun. 

The  trembling  barkeeper  stooped  and  opened 
the  little  door  of  his  safe.  He  took  out  the  only 
ten  dollars  he  had  in  the  world  and  thrust  it  into 
Conko 's  hands. 

"Good-by,  Skeeter,"  Conko  grinned.  "Dat 
wus  a  very  narrer  escapement  fer  you.  I  done 
kilt  plenty  niggers  fer  less  money!" 

Ill 

The  next  day  Skeeter  faced  bankruptcy. 

Conko  possessed  the  gift  of  expression  and  liked 
to  talk.  He  exhibited  the  ten  dollars  he  had  se- 
cured from  Skeeter,  boasted  of  the  forcible  methods 
he  used  to  extract  it  from  the  barkeeper's  roll,  and 
started  eight  others  to  planning  how  they  also 
could  get  their  money  back. 

The    Rev.    Vinegar    Atts    called    early,    and 
brought  Conko  Mukes  with  him. 
18 


274         The  Ten-Share  Horse 

*'I  wants  my  money  back,  Skeeter!"  he  howled. 
*'Conko  an'  me  been  talkin'  it  over.  He  specifies 
dat  I  kin  come  an'  shoot  off  my  mouth,  an'  he'll 
be  handy  to  shoot  off  his  gun ;  but  I  hopes  dat  ain't 
needful  to  pussuade  you  to  do  yo'  Christyum  duty 
an'  hand  my  dollars  back.  Ef  you  don't  see  it  dat 
way,  I  kin  do  de  tongue-lashin'  an'  Conko  kin  do 
de  razor-slashin'.  How  soon  is  you  gwine  hand 
over  my  ten?" 

"I  ain't  got  no  tenner.  Vinegar,"  Skeeter  said 
nervously.  "Conko  will  tell  you  dat  he  got  my 
las'  dollar." 

'  *  Git  some  mo'  dollars ! ' '  Vinegar  shouted.  '  *  Dat 
hoss  white  man  muss  hab  Vided  up  dat  money  wid 
you.     I  wants  mine  back ! ' ' 

'*  You  got  to  gimme  time,"  Skeeter  said  desper- 
ately. "I's  tellin'  you  de  noble  truth  when  I 
says  I  ain't  got  it." 

Vinegar  turned  around  and  looked  at  Conko 
significantly.  The  brave  fighter  stepped  into  the 
ring  and  shook  a  pugilistic  fist  under  Skeeter's 
twitching  nose. 

"Lawdymussy,  niggers!"  Skeeter  wailed. 
**  Gimme  a  little  time  to  hunt  dat  hoss.  You 
oughter  trust  me  till  I  kin  find  him." 

"Us  done  spent  a  day  huntin'  fer  dat  hoss," 
Conko  said  inexorably.  "It  didn't  git  us  nothin'. 
Now  you  pay  Vinegar's  money  back  an'  take  yo' 
time  huntin'  dat  hoss,  an'  when  you  finds  him  you 
will  own  my  tenth  an'  Vinegar's  tenth  an'  yo' 


The  Ten-Share  Horse         275 

tenth  of  dat  hoss.  Three  limpy  legs  will  b'long 
to  you." 

Skeeter  made  a  few  more  feeble  protests;  but 
when  he  saw  that  Conko  was  preparing  to  flash 
the  old  familiar  weapon,  he  surrendered  finally. 
Going  to  his  little  safe,  to  his  cash-drawer,  and 
raking  his  pockets  of  every  coin,  he  managed  to 
scrape  together  the  sum  required,  in  pitiful  little 
pindling  amounts — ten  cents  here  and  two  bits 
there. 

**Dar  it  am,"  Skeeter  lamented.  **I  done 
squoze  out  my  last  nickel.  I  hopes  you-alls  will 
take  pity  on  me,  an'  not  tell  nobody  dat  I  paid 
you  back.  De  nex'  feller  dat  claims  his  money 
will  have  to  take  my  pants!" 

"He'll  either  take  yo'  pants  or  git  his  money 
outen  yo'  hide,"  Conko  laughed  unfeelingly,  as 
the  two  men  walked  out  of  the  saloon. 

One  hour  later  Figger  Bush  and  Shin  Bone 
entered  the  place  and  drew  Skeeter  off  to  a  corner 
of  the  room. 

"Us  wants  our  money  back,  Skeeter!"  was  the 
familiar  greeting. 

"  I  ain't  got  no  money,"  was  Skeeter 's  old  lamen- 
tation. 

Followed  a  long  argument,  ending  with  threats. 
Skeeter  pleaded  and  prayed  until  he  saw  that  the 
two  were  clearing  for  action,  and  once  more  he 
quit. 

"I  ain't  got  no  money,  men,"  he  said  desper- 


276         The  Ten-Share  Horse 

ately,  throwing  his  arms  wide  in  a  hopeless  ges- 
ture. "Jes'  look  aroun'  you  an'  he'p  yo'selves  to 
de  Hen-Scratch." 

**I  takes  a  fancy  to  dat  grassyphome,"  Figger 
replied  promptly.  "I  always  did  like  free  music, 
an'  dat  machine  will  sound  real  good  in  my  cabin, 
wid  me  settin'  on  one  side  smokin'  my  pipe  an' 
Scootie  settin'  on  de  yuther  side,  dippin'  snuff." 

"Take  it!"  Skeeter  wailed. 

**Dis  here  slop-machine  whar  you  draps  in  a 
penny  an'  gits  out  a  stick  of  chaw-gum  will  go  good 
in  my  resteraw,"  Shin  Bone  remarked. 

' '  Take  it ! "  Skeeter .  lamented.  "  I  'm  a  blowed- 
up  sucker!" 

After  these  men  departed,  Skeeter  did  not  have 
long  to  wait  before  another  caller  arrived.  It  was 
Pap  Curtain.  He  bit  off  the  end  of  a  cigar  and 
gazed  intently  into  the  little  barkeeper's  gloomy 
face. 

"You  owes  me  ten  dollars,  Skeeter,"  he  began. 

"I  knowed  dat  as  soon  as  I  seen  you,  Pap," 
Skeeter  sighed.  "I  admits  dat  I  owes  you.  I 
promises  to  pay  you  as  soon  as  I  kin;  but  I  ain't 
got  de  money  now.  Ef  you'll  jes'  only  go  away 
'thout  talkin',  you'll  make  me  happy." 

Pap  took  off  his  hat  and  laid  it  upon  the  table, 
where  they  were  sitting.  He  took  his  cigar  from 
his  mouth  and  placed  it  on  the  table  so  that  the 
lighted  end  projected  a  little  over  the  edge.  Then 
he  drew  a  chair  close  to  Skeeter  and  laid  a  horny 


The  Ten-Share  Horse         277 

finger  upon  Skeeter's  knee  for  emphasis.  Evi- 
dently Skeeter  was  not  to  be  made  happy. 

Pap's  baboon  face,  with  its  snarHng  voice  and 
lips,  carried  its  continual  sneer.  He  possessed  the 
conversational  facilities  of  Bildad  the  Shuhite. 

First  he  coaxed,  wheedled,  begged,  and  im- 
plored. Then  he  argued  and  expounded,  reviewed 
and  reiterated,  discussed  details  and  recapitulated, 
presenting  the  whole  matter  from  the  broadest 
possible  standpoint;  but  he  found  it  hard  to  per- 
suade money  out  of  Skeeter,  for  the  reason  that 
Skeeter  had  none.    The  cupboard  was  bare. 

Then  he  mentioned  the  possibility  of  a  final  and 
absolute  refusal  on  Skeeter's  part  to  restore  the 
ten  dollars  wrongfully  acquired,  and  explained  the 
inevitable  consequences.  At  this  point  he  put  on 
what  the  negroes  call  the  "*rousements,"  and 
yapped  like  a  poodle.  Reaching  his  peroration, 
he  found  that  decent  language  bent  and  broke 
beneath  the  burden  of  his  meaning,  so  he 
*'cussed." 

'*I  got  only  two  boxes  of  seegaws  in  my  little 
show  case.  Pap,"  Skeeter  said,  when  the  vocal 
pyrotechnics  subsided  into  a  feeble  splutter  of  hot 
ashes.  ''Take  'em  an'  git  out!  Dey  is  wuth  mo' 
dan  ten  dollars,  but  I  gib  'em  to  you.  Fer  Gawd's 
sake  git  out!" 

Evidently  Conko  Mukes  was  waiting  outside 
until  Pap  finished.  The  swinging  doors  of  the 
saloon  had  not  ceased  to  vibrate  after  Pap  before 


278         The  Ten-Share  Horse 

Conko  pushed  them  wide  and  entered  the  room 
with  the  clumsy  gait  of  a  bear. 

'  *  I  got  four  friends  dat  is  appointed  me  to  colleck 
fawty  dollars  Skeeter!"  he  bellowed.  "Dey 
promises  me  ten  pussent  per  each  fer  my  trouble 
in  collectin'.     Dat '11  be  fo'  dollars  fer  me." 

"  Jes'  take  whutever  you  wants  an'  call  it  even," 
Skeeter  said  in  a  lifeless  voice.  "I  been  agonizin' 
all  de  mawnin',  an'  I  craves  to  got  de  agony  over." 

"I  don't  want  no  secont-hand  bar-fixtures," 
Conko  laughed  hoarsely.  "Barrooms  is  gone  out 
of  style.  I  wants  de  spot  cash  paid  in  my  hand. 
Gimme  yo'  money  or  yo'  life!" 

'  *  You  know  I  ain't  got  no  money, ' '  Skeeter  wailed. 
"Cain't  you  take  somepin  I  got  in  dis  saloom?" 

"Naw!"  Conko  bawled.  '*I  cain't  colleck  no 
ten  pussent  of  no  brass  foot-rail  or  pool-table.  I 
wants  de  cash!" 

Up  to  this  moment  the  day  had  been  one  of 
great  humiliation.  Now  began  a  period  in  which 
Skeeter  showed  a  marvelous  mental  versatility. 

There  was  no  way  for  him  to  pay  back  that  forty 
dollars  except  to  borrow  it,  and  no  one  to  borrow 
from  but  the  white  folks.  He  had  to  tell  a  differ- 
ent story  to  each  white  man  in  order  to  start  the 
fountain  of  his  generosity  and  secure  the  loan. 
And  through  the  whole  day  of  frenzied  effort  to 
meet  the  demands  upon  him,  there  was  the  haunt- 
ing fear  that  the  horse  had  wandered  off  and  would 
never  be  seen  again. 


The  Ten-Share  Horse         279 

Early  the  next  morning  Skeeter  started  out  to 
hunt  his  horse.  Having  bought  it  and  paid  for  it, 
he  wanted  it.  His  search  was  futile,  and  when  he 
returned  to  Shin  Bone's  restaurant  for  his  noon- 
day meal  he  was  loud  in  his  protestations  of  woe. 

*  *  De  white  man  whut  sold  you  dat  hoss  went  to 
de  pasture  an'  stole  him  out  an'  tuck  him  away," 
Shin  Bone  told  him.  *'Instid  of  huntin'  dat  hoss, 
you  oughter  git  de  sheriff  on  de  trail  of  dat  white 
man." 

''But  de  fence  wus  broke  down,"  Skeeter  pro- 
tested stupidly.  "Dat  shows  dat  de  hoss  got  out 
by  hisself." 

"Ef  I  wus  gwine  steal  a  hoss,  I'd  break  down  de 
fence  so  de  folks  would  think  de  hoss  got  out,"  was 
the  reply. 

This  was  a  new  idea  to  Skeeter,  who  really  had 
not  given  much  thought  to  his  predicament.  He 
carried  this  dark  suspicion  for  the  rest  of  the  day, 
still  hunting  his  horse,  but  devoid  of  all  hope  of 
finding  it. 

"Dat  white  man  rode  dat  hoss  to  town,  sold 
him  to  me,  an'  rode  him  out  of  town,"  he  sighed 
pitiably.  "Yet  dat  feller  looked  to  me  like  a  tol- 
lable nice  man.  He  stressified  dat  he  warn't 
honest,  but  he  specified  dat  he  was  a  puffeck 
gentlemun.  I  ain't  never  gwine  he'p  a  white  man 
agin!" 

He  thought  of  the  forty  dollars  he  had  borrowed 
from  the  white  folks  and  had  to  pay  back.     The 


28o         The  Ten-Share  Horse 

profits  from  his  little  business  were  extremely  small 
and  growing  less.  The  repayment  of  the  borrowed 
money  meant  close  economy  for  a  long  time. 

''I  feels  powerful  sorry  fer  myself,"  he  wailed. 

Wronged,  abused,  depressed,  and  hopeless,  he 
returned  to  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon.  When  he 
entered  he  gasped  for  breath. 

Dick  Nuhat  was  sitting  at  one  of  the  little  tables, 
in  an  attitude  of  deep  and  solemn  meditation,  as 
motionless  as  a  stone  dog. 

IV 

Skeeter  sat  down  at  the  same  table  and  opened 
his  mouth  to  deliver  his  mind  of  all  its  burden  of 
trouble;  but  the  white  man  put  such  a  successful 
cloture  on  the  colored  man's  oratory  that  Skeeter 
could  not  speak  a  word  for  a  long  time. 

Nuhat  thrust  both  hands  into  his  pockets  and 
brought  them  out  full  of  silver  and  currency.  He 
did  not  speak  a  word  of  greeting.  He  merely  laid 
the  money  on  the  top  of  the  table  and  watched 
Skeeter 's  popping  eyes. 

"You  ought  to  have  been  at  the  races,  Skeeter," 
Nuhat  said  at  last.     "We  mopped  up!" 

Skeeter  needed  no  proof  of  this  beyond  the  table- 
top  covered  with  money;  but  even  yet  he  could 
not  find  a  word  to  say. 

"There  is  over  six  hundred  dollars  of  it  that  says 
we  win,  Skeeter,"  Nuhat  laughed. 


The  Ten-Share  Horse         281 

**Whut  hoss  win?"  Skeeter  asked  with  stiff 
lips. 

**Your  horse,"  Niihat  repHed.  "Don't  you  re- 
member that  you  bought  a  horse?  Your  ten- 
share  nigger  horse  that  I  sold  you.  I  sneaked  him 
out  of  the  pasture,  took  him  to  Shongaloon  to  the 
races,  and  mopped  up  this  money." 

"I  been huntin'  fer  dat hoss eve'ywhar,"  Skeeter 
sighed.  *'I  shore  missed  him.  Fs  had  a  lot  of 
trouble  'bout  dat  hoss!" 

"You  won't  ever  see  him  again,"  Nuhat  re- 
sponded. 

"How  come?" 

Nuhat  hesitated  a  minute,  looking  sharply  at 
Skeeter.  He  seemed  undecided  what  to  say  in 
reply,  but  finally  ventiired : 

"I  didn't  own  that  horse  in  the  first  place.  That 
horse's  real  name  is  Springer,  and  its  real  owner  is 
Old  Griff." 

Skeeter  opened  his  eyes  until  they  were  like 
china  door-knobs.  He  wondered  why  he  had  not 
recognized  the  most  famous  race-horse  in  Louisi- 
ana, named  Springer  because  of  his  peculiar 
springy  gait. 

"I  borrowed  Springer  from  Old  Griff's  stable 
without  requesting  the  loan  of  him,"  Nuhat  con- 
tinued. "Old  Griff  came  to  Shongaloon  after 
him.  He  was  real  nice  about  it,  after  I  had  talked 
to  him  about  four  hours.  At  first  he  wanted  to 
put  me  in  jail  for  horse-stealing." 


282         The  Ten-Share  Horse 

*  *  My  Lawd,  white  man ! ' '  Skeeter  ranted.  * '  Dat 
wus  a  awful  risky  thing  to  do.  Glory  to  gracious ! 
To  think  dat  a  nigger  like  me  one  time  owned 
three- tenths  of  Springer — fo'-tenths — my  Lawd,  I 
owned  all  of  him,  fer  dem  niggers  made  me  give 
deir  money  back!" 

"That's  some  glory  for  you,  Skeeter!"  Nuhat 
assured  him. 

*'How  come  dat  Old  Griff  didn't  put  you  in  de 
jail-house?"  the  colored  man  asked. 

''I  had  four  quarts  of  prime  Kentucky  whisky 
when  I  started  in  this  adventure.  I  took  it  with 
me  to  placate  Old  Griff  when  he  caught  me  with 
the  goods.  It  worked.  Toward  the  end  of  the 
second  quart  he  offered  to  make  me  a  present  of 
the  horse." 

"You  means  to  say  all  dis  money  is  yourn?" 
Skeeter  asked,  waving  his  hand  over  the  table. 

"It's  ours,"  Nuhat  replied.  "I  came  back  to 
whack  up  even  with  you." 

"Bless  Gawd  fer  a  noble  white  man!"  Skeeter 
exclaimed.  "How  come  you  tuck  a  notion  to 
come  back  here  to  me?" 

"I  might  have  kept  on  traveling,"  the  white 
man  said  meditatively,  choosing  his  words  cau- 
tiously; "but  I  wanted  to  have  friends  in  Tickfall 
in  case  Old  Griff  sobered  up  and  began  to  trail  his 
horse  and  ask  questions  along  the  way.  Besides, 
down  at  the  bottom  of  me,  I'm  honest,  or  want 
to  be." 


The  Ten-Share  Horse         283 

He  counted  out  ninety  dollars  and  handed  it  to 
Skeeter. 

"This  don't  go  into  the  divide,"  he  explained. 
**This  is  the  sum  you  originally  invested  in  our 
business  enterprise.  The  rest  is  ours — not  honestly 
acquired,  perhaps;  but  I  was  up  against  it,  and 
had  to  have  some  coin." 

They  had  five  hundred  and  forty  dollars  to  divide 
between  them.  When  Skeeter  sat  fondling  two  hun- 
dred and  seventy  dollars,  Nuhat  asked  with  a  smile : 

**What  you  going  to  do  with  your  money?" 

Skeeter  took  a  big  breath  and  sighed  in  happy 
anticipation. 

'  *  I  leaves  on  de  midnight  train  fer  N'Awleens,  an' 
I  stays  dar  till  I  gits  dis  money  well  spent.  I'll  see 
de  nigger  shows,  ride  on  all  de  street-cars,  eat  hot 
roasted  peanuts,  travel  up  'n'  down  on  de  yellerva- 
tors,  chaw  beefsteak  two  inches  thick,  an'  buy  me  a 
derby  hat  an'  a  suit  of  clothes  wid  so  many  colors 
dat  when  I  walks  up  Canal  Street  de  white  folks 
will  think  de  lightning  done  struck  de  rainbow!" 

**I'm  going  to  buy  a  steamboat,"  Nuhat  said 
musingly.  "Thirty  feet  long,  eighteen  feet  wide, 
floating  on  top  of  the  water  like  a  cigar-box,  pro- 
pelled by  a  paddle-wheel  about  as  big  as  a  barrel, 
with  a  little  donkey  six-snort-power  engine.  It 
has  a  speed  of  six  miles  an  hour  down-stream,  if 
the  current  is  good.  Going  up-stream,  it  gets 
there  when  it  can." 

* '  Huh ! ' '  Skeeter  grunted. 


284         The  Ten-Share  Horse 

*'It  costs  two  hundred  dollars,"  Nuhat  con- 
tinued. "I  expect  to  live  and  die  on  that  boat. 
I  love  to  sit  and  think!" 

"Ain't  you  gwine  do  nothing  but  think?"  Skee- 
ter  asked,  to  whom  such  an  occupation  was  utterly- 
foreign  and  beyond  his  comprehension. 

"Yes — I'm  going  to  turn  honest.  Everybody 
will  know  me  as  a  good  white  man." 

"White  folks  is  diffunt  from  niggers  in  deir 
notions  of  havin'  fun,"  Skeeter  said  meditatively. 
"Turnin'  honest  an'  thinkin'  don't  look  like  a 
awful  good  time  to  me!" 

"I  understand,"  Nuhat  replied.  "A  negro  has 
a  one-cylinder  mind  and  a  smoky  spark-plug." 

"But  dat  good  time  I  plans  don't  sep'rate  me 
from  mo'  dan  fifty  dollars  of  my  money,"  Skeeter 
proclaimed.  "De  rest  goes  todes  startin'  me  in 
de  movie  bizness.  De  nex'  time  you  steals  a  hoss 
an'  rides  through  Tickfall,  you'll  see  Skeeter  in 
charge  of  a  fust-rate  nigger  movin' -picture  show." 

When  the  midnight  train  arrived,  Skeeter  was 
on  the  platform,  bidding  good-by  to  Tickfall  with 
a  happy  face. 

The  news  of  his  sudden  rise  to  prosperity  had 
spread  with  amazing  rapidity  through  the  colored 
portions  of  the  town.  No  one  knew  the  details, 
but  all  heard  that  the  horse  Skeeter  bought  had 
won  a  fortune  at  the  races.  Nine  men  were  sorely 
distressed  that  they  had  treated  Skeeter  so  shab- 
bily and  had  disposed  of  their  shares  of  the  horse. 


The  Ten-Share  Horse         285 

Just  as  the  train  started,  nine  negroes  came 
running  across  the  station  platform.  Pap  Cur- 
tain was  waving  two  boxes  of  cigars,  Figger  Bush 
was  wildly  gesticulating  with  the  horn  of  his 
"  grassy phome,"  and  the  others  were  holding 
out  their  hands  with  money. 

Conko  Mukes  ran  along  the  station  platform, 
clinging  to  the  steps  of  the  moving  train,  waving 
a  ten-dollar  bill,  and  speaking  in  pleading  tones. 

"I  wants  to  buy  my  share  of  dat  hoss  agin, 
Skeeter!" 

The  train  was  gaining  headway,  and  Skeeter 
leaned  over,  pretending  he  could  not  hear  what 
was  said. 

"I  wants  to  buy  my  share  of  de  hoss  back!" 
Conko  bellowed,  for  he  had  to  run  now  to  keep  up 
with  the  moving  train. 

Skeeter  grasped  the  hand-rail  on  each  side  of 
him  and  kicked  out  with  all  the  strength  of  his 
body. 

The  toe  of  his  boot  struck  Conko  Mukes  on  the 
point  of  the  chin.  The  man  staggered,  stumbled, 
and  fell  as  a  rotten  log  falls  in  the  forest.  Eight 
of  his  friends  stubbed  their  toes  on  him,  stepped 
on  him,  fell  on  him,  then  picked  him  up,  brushed 
off  his  clothes,  and  led  him  away. 

The  train  moved  through  the  darkness  like  a 
long  serpent  with  shining,  jeweled  sides.  Skeeter 
entered  the  car  and  sat  down,  smiling. 


A  Chariot  of  Fire 


SKY  PILOT 

The  man  traveling  through  the  Louisiana 
swamps  is  often  appalled  by  the  deathlike  stillness 
of  the  woods. 

Slimy  creatures  crawl  in  the  muck  under  his 
feet  without  a  croak  or  hiss.  Gaudy  birds  fly  from 
living  trees  to  dead,  gaunt  stumps  without  a  note 
of  mu^c.  The  fox  and  wolf  which  sometimes 
make  the  woods  vocal  with  their  barking,  slink 
away  at  the  approach  of  man  in  silence.  The 
whole  place  seems  to  be  engaged  in  the  deepest 
conspiracy  to  accomplish  something  which  the 
slightest  sound  would  disturb  or  frustrate. 

Generally,  a  negro  walking  through  the  woods 
alone  will  bawl  a  song  at  the  top  of  his  voice.  For 
some  reason  he  feels  that  there  is  safety  in 
sound,  just  as  the  Chinaman  beats  a  tin  pan  to 
chase  the  devil  away.  But  no  negro  ever  has  the 
courage  to  shatter  one  of  these  conspiracies  of 
silence  when  he  finds  it  in  the  swamp.     If  every- 

286 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  287 

thing  else  begins  to  make  a  racket,  he  will,  too. 
But  he  won't  start  anything. 

Which  accounts  for  the  fact  that  two  negroes, 
not  two  hundred  yards  apart,  were  walking 
through  the  Little  Moccasin  Swamp,  and  were 
unaware  of  each  other's  presence. 

One  negro  was  troubled.  He  stopped,  removed 
his  high  silk  hat,  and  mopped  the  sweat  from  the 
top  of  his  bald  head.  He  lowered  his  head  and 
listened,  then  he  raised  his  head  and  listened.  For 
a  moment  he  thought  he  heard  something,  then 
he  found  the  silence  more  intense  than  ever. 

"Dar's  somepin  gittin'  ready  to  happen  aroun' 
dis  woods,"  he  whispered  to  himself.  "I  been 
listenin'  in  dese  here  swamps  all  my  life,  but  I  ain't 
never  heard  no  sound  like  dat  on  til  now." 

He  squatted  behind  a  stump  and  peered  anxi- 
ously about  him.  Great  trees  of  the  primeval 
forest  reared  themselves  above  him,  skirted  and 
frocked  like  a  Druid  priest  with  the  funereal  moss. 
Under  the  wide-spreading  branches  of  these  trees 
long  corridors  ran  in  every  direction  like  the  floral 
avenues  through  some  giant  hot-house  conserva- 
tory. Nothing  moved,  no  sound  could  be  heard 
under  those  majestic  arches  of  the  forest. 

The  negro  stooped  and  placed  his  ear  to  the 
ground.  He  had  heard  an  express  train  at  a  long 
distance,  and  the  sound  he  was  hearing  at  inter- 
vals was  something  like  that.  But  he  knew  it  was 
twenty  miles  to  the  nearest  railroad  which  carried 


288  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

a  train  which  could  travel  fast  enough  to  make  a 
similar  sound.  He  had  also  heard  a  wolf-pack 
coming  through  the  forest  on  one  occasion,  and 
that  pad-pad-pad  of  their  flying  feet  was  not  dis- 
similar in  sound  to  what  he  was  hearing.  He  was 
also  familiar  with  the  herds  of  wild  hogs  which  in- 
fested the  Little  Moccasin,  and  when  they  were 
moving  rapidly  at  a  long  distance  the  sound  would 
be  like  the  persistent  thrumming  he  could  dimly 
hear. 

"Whutever  dat  is,  'tain't  hittin'  de  groun'  wid 
its  foots,'*  he  announced  to  himself,  as  he  glanced 
up  about  him  with  fear-shot  eyes.  **Dis  here 
nigger  is  gittin'  ready  to  vacate  hisself  from  dis 
swamp." 

He  glanced  up  at  the  sky.  It  was  as  clear  as  a 
soap  bubble.  The  haze  of  the  evening  was  settling 
upon  the  tree-tops  like  a  vail  of  purple  and  gold 
under  the  setting  sun.  He  was  looking  for  the 
signs  of  the  sudden  storms  which  blow  in  from  the 
Gulf,  and  he  sniffed  the  air  for  the  odor  of  smoke 
from  a  forest  fire. 

"'Tain't  no  fire,  an'  it  ain't  no  cycaloon  storm," 
he  muttered. 

He  turned  and  walked  rapidly  down  the  little 
foot-path,  still  listening,  but  now  more  interested 
in  getting  out  of  the  darkening  woods  than  in  lo- 
cating the  source  of  the  sound.  Suddenly  he  heard 
the  noise  so  loud  and  distinct  that  his  next  guess 
was  nearer  than  he  dreamed. 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  289 

**Dat's  a  automobile  engyne!**  he  chattered, 
the  goose-flesh  rising  all  over  his  body.  Then  he 
shook  his  head  in  mute  denial  of  his  assertion. 
The  nearest  public  highroad  was  ten  miles  away. 

**Not  even  a  skeart  nigger  preacher  kin  hear 
ten  miles,"  he  muttered.  ''An'  nobody  but  de 
debbil  could  run  a  automobile  in  dese  here  woods 
whar  dar  ain't  no  road!'* 

The  thought  brought  him  to  a  quick  halt.  Sup- 
pose the  devil  were  loose  in  these  woods,  riding 
around  in  a  flivver  or  straddle  of  a  motor-cycle, 
seeking  whom  he  might  devour? 

"I  don't  crave  to  meet  de  debbil,"  the  colored 
clergyman  murmured,  as  he  reached  up  for  his 
stovepipe  hat  and  grasped  it  firmly  in  his  fingers. 

"I  done  slanderized  the  debbil  too  frequent  in 
mysermonts!"  -^ 

He  turned  his  face  until  his  eyes  looked  straight 
into  the  face  of  the  setting  sun,  and  he  Degan  to 
leave  the  scenery  of  the  swamp  behind  him.  He 
did  not  run.  No  man  can  run  as  fast  as  the  Rev. 
Vinegar  Atts  was  traveling. 

And  Vinegar  knew  where  he  was  going.  In 
the  very  heart  of  that  Little  Moccasin  Swamp 
was  the  Moccasin  prairie.  It  was  an  open  space 
containing  nearly  a  square  mile  of  ground  without 
a  tree  or  stump.  It  was  completely  surrounded 
by  water,  and  two  years  before  a  raging  forest 
fire  had  left  it  a  charred  ground  strewn  with  ash 
and  soot.  Now  it  was  covered  with  grass  and  was 
19 


290  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

as  smooth  as  a  baseball  diamond.  Vinegar  was 
including  that  open  space  in  his  route  toward  Tick- 
fall  because  he  could  travel  across  it  with  ease  and 
speed. 

Suddenly  every  winged  creature  of  the  swamp 
broke  the  silence  and  became  vocal  with  screams 
of  fright.  Hundreds  of  wild  pigeons  rose  in  the 
air  and  began  to  describe  mad  circles  over  the  head 
of  the  running  negro.  From  all  the  watercourses 
rose  the  wild  fowls  that  love  the  low,  damp 
marshes,  and  they  sailed  upward  with  hoarse 
shrieks  of  fear.  The  angry,  fighting,  barklike  call 
of  the  hawks,  mingled  with  the  scream  of  eagles, 
and  these  fearless  birds  sailed  straight  into  the 
glowing  red  eye  of  the  sun  to  meet  the  peril  that 
was  coming. 

Vinegar  Atts  could  not  see  because  he  was 
blinded  by  the  sun.  But  soon  a  roar  sounded 
above  him  like  the  exhaust  of  an  automobile,  and 
Vinegar  looked  up. 

An  airplane  was  climbing  the  pathless  air  in 
long,  spiral  flight  directly  over  his  head — the  first 
flying-machine  that  the  Rev.  Vinegar  Atts  had 
ever  seen.  Its  long  wings  were  tipped  as  with  fire 
by  the  rays  of  the  setting  sun.  Beneath  it  the 
screaming  birds  sailed  wildly,  madly,  performing 
all  sorts  of  aerial  stunts. 

Vinegar  dropped  on  his  knees,  with  his  arms 
stretched  up  toward  the  graceful  creation  of  man's 
brain  and  hands.    A  few  phrases  from  his  old, 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  291 

worn  Bible  came  to  his  mind,  and  he  bellowed  them 
at  the  top  of  his  voice,  as  he  listened  to  the  exhaust 
of  that  great  motor. 

"Like  de  noise  of  chariots  on  de  top  of  moun- 
tains, like  de  noise  of  a  flame  of  fire  dat  devoureth 
de  stubble — all  faces  shall  gather  blackness — dey 
shall  run  like  mighty  men " 

The  birds  scattered  far  and  wide  over  the  swamp. 
There  was  a  great  silence.  Vinegar  opened  his 
eyes,  and  lo,  the  airplane  was  sailing  slowly  down- 
ward. 

**My  Gawd!"  Vinegar  howled.  "De  chariot 
of  fire!" 

Thereupon  he  fulfilled  the  prophecy  of  the  Book 
of  Joel,  and  rose  from  the  ground  and  "ran  like  a 
mighty  man," 

The  airplane  settled  upon  the  edge  of  the  Mocca- 
sin prairie.  A  young  man  dismounted  from  the 
machine,  glanced  at  it  critically,  then  took  a  survey 
of  the  sky  with  a  rather  furtive  eye,  and  turned  with 
an  air  of  decision  and  disappeared  in  the  swamp. 

Then  a  strange  negro  stepped  to  the  edge  of  the 
clearing,  waited  until  he  was  sure  that  the  airman 
was  not  going  to  return,  and  walked  over  to  the 
machine. 

"Dat  white  man  is  done  got  enough  flyin'  an* 
he's  drapped  dis  car  down  here  fer  good,"  he  de- 
cided. "Dis  am  four  miles  from  Tickfall,  an'  ef 
dat  white  man  had  wanted  to  land  anywise  nigh 
he  could  hab  done  it." 


292  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

He  stood  scratching  his  head  and  pondering. 

'*Naw,  suh,"  he  concluded.  "Dat  white  man 
is  done  lost  dis  here  fiyin'-machine.  He  lost  it  a 
puppus.     He  ain't  never  comin'  back  fer  it." 

Sniffing  at  the  taint  of  hot  oil  which  spoiled  the 
rich  odors  of  the  woods,  the  strange  negro  wandered 
on  toward  Tickfall,  his  nose  in  the  air. 

Incidentally  he  had  some  plans  in  the  air. 


II  .. 

THREE  MEN 

Three  men  left  the  landing  place  of  the  airplane 
and  started  for  Tickfall,  four  miles  away. 

The  Rev.  Vinegar  Atts  arrived  first  because  he 
was  in  a  hurry,  and  ran  every  step.  He  staggered 
into  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon  in  the  last  stages  of 
physical  exhaustion,  and  dropped  down  in  a  chair 
beside  a  table. 

Three  negroes  sprang  to  their  feet,  terrified  by 
the  colored  clergyman's  appearance  and  manner. 

**Whut  ails  you,  Vinegar?"  Skeeter  Butts  ex- 
claimed. "You  look  like  you  done  been  run  by 
aha'nt!'* 

"Wusser  'n  dat,  nigger,"  Vinegar  panted,  as  he 
wiped  the  copious  perspiration  from  his  bald  head, 
and  reached  out  a  trembling  hand  for  the  reviving 
drink  which  Figger  Bush  had  thoughtfully  brought 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  293 

him.  **I  done  seen  a  chariot  of  fire  come  straight 
down  from  de  glory  of  de  Lawd ! " 

Hitch  Diamond  glanced  at  the  empty  glass,  and 
then  nodded  significantly  to  Skeeter  Butts. 

''Don't  gib  him  any  more,  Skeeter,"  he  sug- 
gested. *  *  De  revun  is  done  had  too  many  drams 
already." 

*  *  'Tain't  so, ' '  Vinegar  grunted.  *  *  I  ain't  drunk. 
I'm  seein' — things!" 

"I  ketch  on,"  Hitch  chuckled.  "I  done  seen 
things  in  my  day,  too.  I  seen  a  purple  elerphunt 
wunst.  I  wus  settin'  on  de  side  of  a  puffeckly 
straight  wall  ticklin'  one  of  dese  here  ukuleles. 
Whar  you  been  at?    Whut  else  did  you  see?" 

"Been  out  in  de  swamp.  Seen  a  chariot  of  fire 
come  down  outen  de  sky.  I  heard  it  zoonin'  fer  a 
long  time — sounded  like  a  automobile.  All  de 
birds  in  de  woods  flew  up  to  see  it,  an'  squalled 
like  dey  wus  skeart  to  death.  It  lit  out  in  de  Little 
Moccasin  prairie." 

''Whut  happened  when  she  lit?"  Figger  Bush 
inquired. 

"I  didn't  stay  to  see,"  Vinegar  sighed.  "Fer 
a  fack,  I  wus  makin'  myse'f  absent  befo'  she  lit." 

Suddenly  Skeeter  Butts  began  to  laugh.  He 
slapped  his  brown  hand  upon  his  thigh  and  cackled 
like  a  hen.  The  more  he  laughed  the  funnier 
something  got  to  him. 

"I  knows  whut  ails  Vinegar,  brudders,"  he 
snickered.     ' '  He's  done  see  a ' ' 


294  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

Skeeter's  assertion  paused  in  midair,  because 
the  door  of  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon  was  pushed 
open,  and  the  second  man  had  arrived  from 
Moccasin  prairie. 

This  man  was  a  stranger,  and  was  built  on  circu- 
lar lines,  round  head,  round  eyes,  round  face, 
round  body.  His  character  and  modes  of  thought 
and  action  also  followed  curved  lines.  There  was 
nothing  straight  about  him. 

''Good  evenin',  brudders,"  he  greeted  them. 
"My  name  am  Red  Cutt.  Kin  you-alls  tell  me 
whut  town  dis  is?" 

"How  come  you  don't  know  whar  you  is  at?" 
Skeeter  asked  suspiciously. 

"I  jes*  landed,"  Red  Cutt  remarked  simply. 

"Didn't  de  train  corndoctor  tell  you  whar  you 
wus  gittin'  off?"  Hitch  Diamond  rumbled.  "Or 
mebbe  you  rid  de  brake  rods?" 

"Naw,  suh,"  Red  Cutt  replied  smilingly.  "I 
rode  through  de  air." 

"Gimme  somepin  to  hold  on  to,  niggers,"  Figger 
Bush  snickered,  as  he  sat  down  with  pretended 
weakness  in  a  chair  and  grasped  the  legs  of  the 
table.  "Here's  one  nigger  whut  says  he  seen  a 
chariot  of  fire,  and  here  comes  a  secont  nigger  whut 
says  he  took  a  ride  in  it." 

"  'Twarn't  no  chariot  of  fire,"  Cutt  said  easily. 
"It  was  a  air-ship.  Didn't  none  of  you  niggers 
ever  see  no  airplane?" 

"Suttinly,"  Skeeter  Butts  answered.     "Ldone 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  295 

seen  a  millyum  of  'em  in  N'Awleens.  But  you  is 
de  fust  cuUud  aviator  I's  seen." 

"Dar  ain't  many  in  de  worl',"  Cutt  said 
quietly.  "I  reckin  I'm  about  de  fust  nigger  flier 
in  de  worl'." 

"Listen  to  dat,"  Vinegar  Atts  exploded.  **Ef 
I  hadn't  been  so  skeart  I'd  'a'  had  good  comp'ny 
back  to  town.'* 

* '  Wus  you  de  brudder  dat  wus  bellerin'  so  loud  ?" 
Cutt  inquired.  "I  heard  somebody,  but  I  couldn't 
locate  'em.  I  couldn't  find  no  good  Ian  din'  place 
close  to  town.  I  wus  skeart  I'd  tear  up  a  lot  of 
fences  an'  telegram  poles  ef  I  landed  in  Tickfall. 
I  wus  skeart  I'd  hab  to  pay  fer  'em.  So  I  landed 
out  in  de  swamp." 

*'Dat  wus  right,"  Figger  Bush  laughed.  "No 
Tickfall  niggers,  excusin'  Skeeter  Butts,  is  got  to 
see  a  air-ship,  an'  I  b'lieves  dat  Skeeter  is  lyin'. 
Ef  you'd  landed  in  town,  all  us  Tickfalls  would  hab 
fell  in  a  well  or  run  our  self  s  to  death." 

At  this  moment  the  green-baize  doors  of  the 
saloon  were  pushed  open  and  a  white  man  entered. 
The  third  man  had  arrived  in  Tickfall. 

At  first  glance  he  appeared  to  be  a  mechanic. 
His  hands  were  large,  black  with  the  grime  of 
machinery,  and  hard.  His  face  and  clothes  were 
streaked  with  grease.  The  skin  of  his  face  had 
been  whipped  by  the  air  until  it  was  tanned  like 
leather. 

"Good  evenin'  boss,"  Skeeter  exclaimed,  stand- 


296  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

ing  up  and  taking  the  stranger  in  at  a  glance.  "Er 
— dis  here  is  a  cullud  bar,  an'  us  cain't  serve  de 
white " 

"I  don't  want  a  drink,"  the  young  man  an- 
swered. "I  want  some  information.  Do  any  of 
you  know  where  Mr.  Arsene  Chieniere  Hves?" 

There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  then  Vinegar 
interpreted : 

''He  means  Mr.  Arson  Shinny!" 

"O — suttinly,  suh,"  Skeeter  exclaimed.  "He 
lives  right  straight  out  dis  road  whut  goes  in  front 
of  dis  saloon.  I  seen  Miss  Jew-ann  Shinny  pass 
here  to-day — gwine  todes  home." 

*'Miss  Juan?"  the  young  man  asked,  giving 
the  beautiful  Latin  pronunciation,  and  speaking 
the  word  like  a  caress. 

' '  Dat's  de  lady, ' '  Skeeter  answered.  ' '  Dey  lives 
ten  miles  out  on  dis  here  road." 

"Where  can  I  hire  a  flivver  to  take  me  out 
there?" 

"I's  de  only  taxi-man  in  town,"  Skeeter  said, 
as  he  reached  for  his  cap.  "I'll  take  you  out  dar 
in  twenty  minutes  fer  two  dollars." 

"Get  busy,"  the  young  man  answered,  as  he  sat 
down  to  wait. 

The  other  three  negroes  sat  whispering  to  each 
other  for  a  few  minutes,  then  Vinegar  inquired: 

"Beg  pardon,  boss;  ain't  you  a  railroad  man?" 

"Yes,"  the  stranger  answered,  with  a  barely 
perceptible  hesitation. 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  297 

"I  knowed  it,"  Vinegar  chuckled.  "I  bet 
Miss  Jew-ann  Shinny  is  gwine  be  glad  to  see  you  1 " 

**I'll  go  to  see  now,"  the  young  man  smiled,  as 
he  heard  Skeeter's  machine  at  the  door. 

Ill 
"miss  jew-ann"  ^ 

It  was  not  possible  for  Skeeter  Butts  to  keep  his 
mouth  shut  for  twenty  minutes,  and  the  young 
man  beside  him,  as  he  watched  the  long  sandy 
road  roll  under  the  machine  like  a  brown  ribbon, 
was  equally  willing  to  talk. 

*'Is  you-alls  kin  to  de  Shinnys?"  Skeeter  asked. 

''No." 

"Gwine  dar  on  bizzness?" 

"No— yes." 

"Dar  ain't  nobody  at  dat  house  to  do  bizzness 
wid  excusin'  Mr.  Shinny  an'  Miss  Jew-ann."  No 
answer.  "Which  one  am  you  doin'  bizzness  wid, 
boss?" 

"Which  one  do  you  think?" 

"Of  co'se,  I'm  jes'  guessin' — but  ef  I  wus  a  white 
man  I'd  shore  crave  to  talk  bizzness  wid  de  lady." 

"That's  what  I'm  here  for,"  the  stranger 
laughed. 

"I  done  got  you  located  now,  boss,"  Skeeter 
chuckled  delightedly.     "You  is  courtin'." 

They  turned  suddenly  to  the  left  and  ran  into 


298  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

a  dark  road  which  lead  through  a  section  of  the 
Little  Moccasin  Swamp.  The  wheels  began  to 
slip  in  the  mire  and  Skeeter  gave  his  entire  atten- 
tion to  his  automobile  to  prevent  stalling  in  the 
mud.  At  last  they  reached  firmer  ground,  and 
Skeeter  returned  to  the  conversation. 

*'0f  co'se,  I  ain't  axin'  you  fer  no  job,  boss,  but 
I's  been  powerful  assistance  to  a  whole  passel  of 
young  white  mens  dat's  come  courtin'  in  dis 
country." 

''What  special  help  can  you  render?"  the 
stranger  asked. 

"Expe'unce  an'  conversation,"  Skeeter  replied 
promptly.  "I  done  courted  'bout  a  millyum 
womens  my  own  self,  an'  I  knows  all  de  funny 
curves  dey  tries  on.  I  gives  exputt  advice  to  all 
de  niggers  dat  marries  in  Tickfall.  I  ain't  no 
marrifyin'  man  myse'f,  but  I  favors  it  an'  he'ps  it 
along." 

"How  can  you  render  assistance  through  your 
conversation?"  the  young  man  smiled. 

"  Gosh,  white  man !  You  ain't  never  done  no 
courtin'  in  de  South,  is  you?  Eve'y  white  man 
whut  goes  courtin'  hires  a  nigger  to  go  wid  him." 

"What  for?" 

"I  see  you  don't  know  nothin',"  Skeeter 
chutikled.  "I  esplains  dis  fack;  eve'y  white  lady 
dat  is  wuth  courtin'  is  got  some  nigger  gal  wuckin' 
fer  her  in  de  kitchen.  Eve'y  white  man  whut 
onderstan's  courtin'  hires  a  nigger  boy  to  go  wid 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  299 

him  an*  wait  on  him  while  he  courts  de  lady.  Now, 
dat  nigger  boy  goes  into  de  kitchen  an'  tells  dat 
nigger  gal  whut  a  allfired  good  ketch  fer  de  white 
lady  his  boss  am — an'  de  nigger  gal  tells  dat  nigger 
boy  whut  a  histidious,  highfalutin  lady  her  mistiss 
is,  an'  dat  arrangement  he'ps  courtin'  long  an'  does 
a  large  amount  of  great  good." 

The  young  man  laughed,  and  Skeeter  bent  over 
his  wheel,  watching  the  road  for  stumps  as  his 
machine  plowed  through  some  high  marsh  grass. 

*'Now,  I  always  gives  my  white  man  a  good  re- 
commend at  de  fust  off -startin' , ' '  Skeeter  continued. 
**I  tells  de  nigger  gal  my  white  folks  don't  drink 
none,  don't  gamble  none,  is  got  plenty  money, 
owns  a  big  plantation,  and  hires  plenty  niggers. 
When  us  mens  goes  home,  dat  nigger  gal  tells  her 
mistiss  whut  I  said  about  her  gen'leman  friend. 
Don't  you  think  dat's  a  good  arrangement?" 

**I  don't  know,"  the  young  man  said  dubiously, 
as  they  ran  into  a  clearing  and  stopped  in  front  of 
a  wide-spreading  farmhouse.  "I'll  wait  and  see. 
I  like  to  talk  for  myself,  but  I  might  need  you 
yet." 

"I  hope  so,  boss,"  Skeeter  smiled  as  he  pocketed 
the  two  dollars  which  the  young  man  extended. 
"You  want  me  to  wait  fer  you?" 

*'No." 

**Want  me  to  come  back  fer  you?" 

"No." 

"A'right.    Ef  you  needs  me,  jes'  ax  fer  Skeeter 


300  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

Butts.  Fs  got  a  good  name  'mongst  de  white  and 
de  blacks." 

Miss  Juan  Chieniere  sat  upon  the  wide,  white 
portico  and  watched,  as  the  white  man  dismounted 
from  the  machine.  She  watched  until  Skeeter  had 
turned  and  started  back  the  way  he  had  come. 
She  watched  the  young  man  turn  and  enter  the 
gate.  All  of  this  with  indifference,  which  suddenly 
turned  to  an  interest,  which  left  her  gasping  with 
delight. 

*'0h— Jim!" 

The  Frenchwoman  makes  the  most  fascinating 
sweetheart  and  the  most  attractive  wife  in  the 
world,  to  all  except  a  blind  man.  To  all  the  other 
things  which  the  Frenchwoman  possesses  in  com- 
mon with  her  sisters,  she  adds  the  charm  of  man- 
ner. In  other  words,  when  she  loves  a  man,  she 
shows  it !  The  glance  of  the  eye,  the  quiver  of  the 
lips,  the  gesture  of  her  hands,  these  things  speak 
for  her  and  plead  for  her  and  pray  for  her ! 

' '  Oh — ^Jim !  * '  she  repeated. 

*'I  told  you  I  was  coming,"  was  all  that  Jim 
said. 

"But — ^how  did  you  get  here,  Jim?" 

"I  flew  through  the  air  like  a  bird,  just  like  I 
told  you  I  would." 

Her  hand  motioned  him  to  a  seat  by  her  side, 
and  every  posture  of  her  body,  as  she  moved 
aside  to  give  him  space,  bespoke  a  welcome  with- 
out words. 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  301 

** Where  did  you  get  the  airplane,  Jim?*'  she 
questioned. 

"I  stole  it,"  Jim  answered  frankly.  "I  stole 
it  from  the  government  of  the  United  States.  It's 
an  army  airplane,  designed  to  strafe  the  Huns.  I 
just  hopped  in,  shot  the  juice  to  her,  and  flew 
seventy  miles  to  see  you!" 

"Holy  Mother!"  the  girl  exclaimed  tragically. 
"What  will  they  do  to  you  for  that  crime?" 

"I  should  worry — they  haven't  caught  me  yet. 
Besides,  I've  got  a  whale  of  a  lie  fixed  up  to  tell 
them." 

"Let  me  hear  your  lie,  Jimmy,"  the  girl  flut- 
tered. "I'll  be  scared  to  death  while  you  are  here, 
unless  the  lie  is  a  real  good  one,  and  will  save  you 
if  you  get  caught." 

Jim  hesitated  a  moment  while  he  reached  for 
his  cigarette-case.  The  girl  took  the  match  from 
his  fingers,  struck  it  into  flame,  and  held  it  to  his 
cigarette,  thus  lighting  his  face  and  her  own  in 
the  gathering  dusk. 

"Whew,"  he  whistled,  as  his  hungry  eyes  de- 
voured the  beauty  of  her  face.  "It  would  have 
been  worth  it  if  I  had  stolen  a  whole  squadron  of 
war-ships  to  come  to  see  you  in." 

"Tell  me  the  beautiful  alibi  lie,  Jimmy,"  the 
girl  insisted. 

"You  can't  appreciate  the  value  of  a  lie  until 
you  know  the  truth,"  Jimmy  began,  inhaling  his 
cigarette  smoke.    "The  truth  is  this :  I  have  been 


302  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

in  the  aviation  camp  for  eighteen  months  without 
a  chance  of  getting  leave  of  absence  to  come  to  see 
you.  The  only  chance  I  have  ever  had  to  talk 
has  been  on  your  visits  to  your  brother  at  the 
camp,  and  those  opportunities  have  been  too  few. 
Now,  I  am  an  expert  airplane  mechanic,  and  in  re- 
pairing machines  I  am  permitted  to  try  them  out 
before  brave  aviators  like  your  brother  are  per- 
mitted to  risk  their  valuable  lives  in  them.  So 
this  afternoon  I  repaired  a  machine  and  took  a 
trial  flight  which  has  extended  for  seventy  miles, 
and  which  ended  just  about  four  miles  from  Tick- 
fall,  and  ten  miles  by  automobile  from  you.  I 
came  here  to  see  you  because  I  love  you,  and 
before  I  go  back  I  expect  your  promise  to  marry 
me!" 

**0h,  how  perfectly  glorious!"  the  girl  ex- 
claimed. "That's  the  truth!  Now,  tell  me  the 
beautiful  lie!" 

"When  I  go  back  to  the  camp  I  shall  tell  them 
that  I  started  out  on  a  trial  flight,  and  had  engine 
trouble;  had  to  land  in  the  heart  of  these  great 
Louisiana  swamps,  and  lost  my  bearings.  I  shall 
tell  them  I  spent  two  days  wandering  in  the  wilder- 
ness like  the  children  of  Israel  before  I  found  a 
human  habitation.  There  I  got  help,  made  my 
repairs,  and  hurried  back!" 

"That's  fine,  Jimmy!"  Juan  exclaimed.  **But 
will  they  believe  it?" 

**I  don't  know.     If  you  think  it  is  too  risky, 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  303 

suppose  you  promise  to  marry  me  right  now,  and 
let  me  hurry  back?" 

''You're  joking,  now,  Jimmy,"  the  girl  an- 
swered promptly.  "You  must  save  your  lies  and 
jokes  till  you  get  back  to  camp.  Maybe  they'll 
believe  them." 

The  door  opened,  and  a  handsome  gentleman 
stepped  out  upon  the  porch. 

"Father,"  the  girl  said,  as  they  both  rose  to  their 
feet,  "this  is  Mr.  James  Gannaway,  from  the  avia- 
tion camp  where  brother  is." 

"I  welcome  you,  young  man,"  Mr.  Chieniere 
exclaimed  cordially.  * '  I  wish  you  were  my  son 
come  in  from  the  camp." 

"I  wish  so,  too,"  Jim  said  simply,  and  his  words 
held  a  meaning  which  the  father  did  not  get. 

IV 

THE  FLYING  CLUB 

When  Skeeter  Butts  returned  to  the  Hen- 
Scratch  saloon,  he  found  his  three  friends  at  the 
table,  listening  with  the  most  intense  interest  to 
the  speech  of  the  stranger  recently  arrived  among 
them,  Red  Cutt. 

They  were  so  intent  upon  his  words  that  Skeeter 
regretted  his  absence  from  the  saloon.  He  felt 
that  he  had  missed  something  of  the  utmost  im- 
portance, for  he  had  never  seen  his  three  friends 


304  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

more  excited  than  they  were  at  that  particular 
moment.  Skeeter  paused  at  the  door  and  listened. 
Red  Cutt  was  speaking. 

**De  fust  time  I  ever  saw  anybody  go  up  in  de 
air  wus  at  a  county  fair.  Dar  wus  a  balloon  tied 
on  de  end  of  a  rope,  an'  a  white  man  wus  in  charge, 
and  he  let  eve'ybody  whut  had  a  dollar  go  up  in  de 
air  as  fur  as  de  rope  went.'* 

"How  many  foots  could  you  go  up?"  Vinegar 
inquired. 

*'One  thousand  foots,"  Red  Cutt  informed  him. 
''Datis  as  fur  as  de  rope  stretched.  Ofco'seif 
de  rope  broke,  I  imagines  a  nigger  might  hab  went 
a  heap  farther,  but  dey  wouldn't  charged  him 
nothin'  fer  dat  extry  trip." 

* '  An'  did  you  go  up  in  it  ? "  Hitch  Diamond  asked. 

*  *  Naw,  I  didn't  hab  no  dollar ;  but  I  made  up  my 
mind  right  dar  dat  some  day  I  wus  gwine  up." 

Skeeter  Butts  joined  the  company  at  this  point, 
sat  down  and  lighted  a  cigarette,  leaned  back  and 
asked  with  great  nonchalance: 

*'How  long  has  you  been  tryin'  to  fly,  Brudder 
Red  Cutt?" 

'  *  I  been  at  it  for  the  last  'leven  or  twelve  months. 
Is  you  had  any  expe'unce  flyin'?" 

**Naw,  suh,  I  ain't  had  much  to  speak  about," 
Skeeter  Butts  replied.  "Of  co'se,  I  took  a  few 
little  flies  when  I  wus  in  de  army,  but  I  didn't  run 
de  machine  myself,  an'  I  don't  know  very  much 
about  it." 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  305 

**I*m  glad  to  hear  you  say  dat,  Skeeter,"  Red 
Cutt  responded.  ''You  see,  my  bizzness  jes'  now 
is  travelin'  through  de  country  teachin'  cullud 
folks  how  to  fly  dese  machines.  De  gover'ment 
of  the  Nunited  States  is  makin'  about  a  million  of 
dese  airships  eve'y  week.  As  soon  as  de  war  is  over 
dey  won't  have  no  need  for  dem  airships  in  de 
Europe  war,  an'  dey  will  have  about  forty  millions 
dat  dey  will  want  to  sell  cheap." 

"Dat  sounds  good  to  me,"  Skeeter  Butts  said 
in  pleased  anticipation.  "I  always  has  wanted 
one  of  dem  things." 

* '  Well,  you  kin  git  you  one, ' '  Red  Cutt  said.  ' '  A 
good  hand-me-down  airship — dis  here  gover'ment 
will  be  mighty  nigh  givin'  'em  away,  because  dey 
won't  have  no  whar  to  keep  'em  atter  de  war  is 
over." 

"I'll  shore  git  me  one,"  Hitch  Diamond  said  in 
a  loud  voice. 

Red  Cutt  looked  at  him  and  nodded  his  head 
approvingly. 

"I'll  git  me  one,"  Vinegar  Atts  proclaimed. 

"Put  me  down  for  one,  de  best  one  you  got,*' 
Skeeter  Butts  announced. 

"I  ain't  sellin'  'em,  nigger,"  Red  Cutt  laughed. 
"I  learns  fellers  how  to  fly  in  'em.  The  gover'- 
ment ain't  gwine  deliver  'em  to  you.  Dey  will  all 
be  landed  at  de  same  place  on  de  Gulf  of  Mexico, 
an'  eve'y  nigger  has  got  to  go  git  his  own  an'  pick 
out  of  the  bunch  de  one  dat  he  wants." 
20 


3o6  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

**  You  means  dat  we  got  to  fly  our  own  machine 
home?"  Skeeter  Butts  inquired. 

**Suttingly,"  Red  Cutt  answered. 

**Gosh!  I  reckon  we  does  need  lessons  in 
flyin',"  Vinegar  Atts  proclaimed. 

"One  dollar,  per  lesson,  each*nigger,"  Red  Cutt 
announced  in  a  businesslike  tone. 

"How  many  niggers  is  allowed  to  learn  at  one 
time?"  Skeeter  inquired. 

"One  hundred  niggers.  We  organizes  de  High 
Exalted  Nigger  Flyin'  Club,  and  we  all  takes  les- 
sons at  the  same  time." 

"When  is  we  gwine  organize  dis  club?"  Skeeter 
Butts  inquired. 

"It  will  suit  me  best  if  we  organizes  to-night," 
Red  Cutt  replied.  "Because,  you  see,  I  ain't  got 
so  awful  long  to  stay  at  any  one  place." 

"I  kin  fix  dat,"  Hitch  Diamond  growled.  "De 
Nights  of  Darkness  lodge  meets  to-night.  We 
has  got  a  little  mo'  dan  one  hundred  members,  but 
dar  never  wus  a  lodge  full  of  niggers  whar  all  of  'em 
had  one  dollar  per  each  at  one  time.  So  I  imagines 
dat  when  we  sends  out  word  dat  eve'y  nigger  dat 
comes  to  de  lodge  to-night  must  have  a  dollar  fer 
a  special  puppus  dar  won't  be  mo'  dan  one  hunderd 
dat  will  see  deir  way  clear  to  come." 

"We  might  take  our  fust  lesson  at  de  lodge  to- 
night, atter  we  completes  de  organization,"  Red 
Cutt  suggested. 

"Dat  will  suit  me  perzackly,"  Hitch  rumbled. 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  307 

'*I*s  de  presidunt  of  de  Nights  of  Darkness  lodge, 
and  I'll  give  de  word,  an'  whut  I  says  goes." 

Red  Cutt  reached  to  his  hip-pocket  and  brought 
forth  a  red-covered  book  and  laid  it  on  the  table 
before  them.  Vinegar  Atts  leaned  over  and  gazed 
at  the  title  of  the  book— -"How  to  Fly."  He 
opened  to  the  title-page  of  the  volume  and  be- 
held a  picture  of  a  man  dressed  in  the  aviator 
costume,  with  his  goggles  pushed  back  on  his  fore- 
head, his  mouth  wide-spread  in  a  happy  grin. 

*'Somepin  shore  tickles  dis  flyin'-man,"  he 
chuckled.  "I  wonder  is  he  so  awful  pleased  wid 
himself  because  he  is  gwine  up  or  because  he  has 
jes'  come  down?" 

''As  fer  as  I  am  concerned,"  Skeeter  cackled, 
*'I  think  I  could  pull  a  bigger  grin  atter  I  done 
come  down  dan  I  could  ef  I  wus  jes'  gwine  up." 

"Atter  you  has  studied  dis  book  a  while,  an' 
tuck  a  few  lessons  in  runnin'  de  machine,  you  will 
laugh  de  most  at  de  chance  of  gwine  up,"  Red  told 
him. 

He  handed  the  book  to  Vinegar  opened  at  the 
preface,  and  said : 

"Read  whut  it  says  at  the  fust  openin'  of  de 
book." 

The  colored  clergyman  leaned  back  and  gazed 
at  the  page,  reading  aloud,  giving  to  the  words  his 
peculiar  African  pronunciation. 

"*Wid  a  desire  to  train  an  aviator  into  proper 
capability  so  dat  he  may,  when  embarkin'  on  his 


3o8  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

career,  have  skillful  an*  complete  knowledge  of  his 
perfession "* 

"Dat's  de  word!"  Red  proclaimed.  ''Skillful 
an'  complete  knowledge  of  his  perfession!" 

"'An'  fiy  widout  dose  disasterous  an'  unnervin* 
consequences — '"  Vinegar  resumed  but  was  in- 
stantly interrupted. 

"  Dat's  de  sentence  whut  suits  me  best,"  Skeeter 
announced.  "I  don't  want  no  disasterous  an' 
unnervin'  consequences  when  I  gits  up  in  de  air." 

' '  Dis  here  am  de  very  book  dat  shows  you  how 
not  to  have  'em,"  Red  Cutt  said.  "An'  dis  is  de 
rule  dat  we  go  by." 

He  rapidly  turned  over  the  pages  of  the  preface, 
indicating  a  place  on  the  page,  and  allowed  Vinegar 
to  resume  his  reading. 

"'Do  not  rush  students  through  deir  trainin'. 
Haste  makes  waste.  Dis  fack  should  be  inscribed 
on  de  door  of  every  hangar.' " 

"Hanger!"  Figger  Bush  exclaimed.  "How 
come  dat  book  speaks  about  hangin'  ?  I  thought 
we  wus  talkin'  about  fiyin',  an'  now  you  done  got 
off  de  subjeck." 

The  other  three  negroes  looked  at  Red  Cutt 
rebukingly,  as  if  they  also  thought  that  he  had 
brought  into  the  matter  of  flying  a  theme  which  no 
negro  in  the  South  cares  to  discuss.  He  is  willing 
to  walk,  to  run,  to  swim  or  fly,  but  he  has  an  in- 
superable aversion  to  hanging. 

"Dat  shows  dat  you  niggers  have  got  a  heap  to 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  309 

learn,"  Red  Cutt  laughed.  "A  hangar  is  jes'  like  a 
stable.  You  keeps  a  buggy  in  de  stable,  an'  a  auto- 
mobile in  de  garage,  an'  a  airplane  in  a  hangar." 

**Mebbe  so,"  Skeeter  said  in  a  dissatisfied  tone. 
**But  I  don't  like  dat  word,  jes'  de  same." 

*'Dar  ain't  no  noose  to  dis  hangar  I  speaks  of," 
Red  Cutt  assured  him. 

"No  noose  is  good  noose,"  Skeeter  proclaimed. 
**But  I  don't  like  dat  word." 

**  Don't  let  a  word  pester  you,"  Red  Cutt 
laughed  as  he  rose  to  his  feet  and  picked  up  his 
hat.  "Meet  me  at  de  Nights  of  Darkness  lodge 
to-night  an'  I'll  tell  you  some  things  dat  will  git 
on  your  squeamishness  heap  wuss  dan  a  word." 

"We  will  all  be  dar!"  the  quartet  chorused. 

"All  you  got  to  do  is  to  be  dar  wid  yo'  dollar," 
Red  Cutt  answered  as  he  stepped  through  the 
green-baize  door  of  the  saloon. 


A  NEW  THING 

The  ancient  Greek  of  apostolic  days  was  not 
alone  in  his  eagerness  ' '  to  see  and  to  hear  some  new 
thing."  When  the  word  went  abroad  in  the  negro 
settlements  of  Tickfall  that  there  was  to  be  a  new 
thing  at  the  lodge  that  night,  cost  of  admission 
being  one  dollar,  three  hundred  and  twenty-five 
negroes,  by  methods  distinctly  Ethiopian,  secured 


310  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

the  necessary  dollar,  which  for  that  night  only 
was  the  password  to  the  lodge. 

When  Red  Cutt  appeared  upon  the  scene,  he  by 
himself  was  worth  the  price  of  admission.  He 
had  dressed  himself  in  a  faint  imitation  of  the 
costume  of  an  aviator.  That  costume  was  a  mix- 
ture of  all  the  varied  uniforms  that  he  had  seen, 
and  portions  of  which  he  could  acquire. 

Beginning  at  the  feet,  for  some  reason  known 
only  to  himself,  he  wore  a  pair  of  spurs;  around 
his  legs  were  leather  puttees — to  that  extent  he 
resembled  a  cavalry  officer.  His  pantaloons  were 
hunting-breeches.  His  coat  was  a  hunting-coat, 
somewhat  appropriate  because  it  was  rain-proof, 
and  might  shed  oil  easily.  His  head-covering  was 
a  cap  with  a  rubber  visor,  and  his  eyes  were 
covered  with  enormous  automobile  goggles.  He 
wore  gauntlets  on  his  hands,  and  somewhere  he 
had  acquired  four  brass  buttons,  from  each  of 
which  was  suspended  a  gaudy  ribbon.  He  had 
evidently  acquired  these  decorative  ribbons  at 
some  association  of  drummers  or  the  convention 
of  some  political  party.  One  ribbon  bore  the 
words  ' '  Reception  Committee. ' '  A  second  ribbon 
was  inscribed  "Delegate,"  and  a  third  ribbon  bore 
the  magic  word  ''Information." 

He  was  escorted  to  a  seat  on  the  rostrum  by  the 
president  of  the  lodge,  and  looking  through  his 
automobile  goggles  at  the  crowd  of  negroes  assem- 
bled, he  was  surprised,  and  felt  some  uneasiness. 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  311 

He  had  expected  not  more  than  one  hundred 
negroes.  That  would  have  been  a  crowd  that 
he  could  manage;  but  when  he  found  exactly 
three  times  that  number,  the  assemblage  looked 
to  him  too  much  like  a  mob — or  at  least  it  looked 
like  it  might  be  easily  converted  into  one. 

Hitch  Diamond  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Brudders,  dar  is  a  cullud  pusson  here  to-night 
who  is  come  on  a  important  job.  He  is  de  only 
nigger  in  dis  country  whut  ever  went  up  in  a  air- 
ship. He  has  had  plenty  expe'unce  as  a  flyin' 
man,  an*  he  has  come  to  learn  us  all  how  to  fly  up !" 

**Whar  we  gwine  fly  to?"  a  voice  spoke  up. 

**Wharever  you  wants  to  go,"  Hitch  Diamond 
answered. 

At  this  point  Pap  Curtain  rose  to  his  feet.  **Is 
dis  here  nigger  a  member  of  our  lodge,  Mr.  Pres'- 
dunt?"  he  snarled. 

"Naw,  suh." 

*'Is  dis  here  some  new  degree  we  takes  in  dis 
lodge?"  Pap  persisted. 

"Naw,  suh." 

"Well,  whut  is  dis  about?" 

"Ef  you'll  set  down.  Pap,"  Hitch  growled,  "an* 
let  our  visitin'  brudder  tell  his  bizzness  in  his  own 
way,  mebbe  you'll  git  some  information." 

"  I's  one  of  de  bo'd  of  directors  of  dis  here  lodge," 
Pap  snarled.  "Ef  dar  is  any  bizzness  dat  I  ain't 
seen  about  befo'hand,  I'm  ag'in'  it." 

The  lodge  members  showed  impatience  at  this 


312  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

interruption.  Pap  had  been  a  conscientious  ob- 
jector to  nearly  everything  the  lodge  had  ever 
undertaken.  He  was  quick  to  notice  their  im- 
patience, and  sat  down  grumbling  to  himself. 

Red  Cutt  arose  and  fingered  the  three  badges  on 
his  breast.  Touching  one  particular  badge  by  the 
corner,  and  holding  it  out  so  that  the  lodge  could 
see,  he  announced : 

"Dis  badge  is  marked  *  Information,'  an'  means 
dat  I'm  de  man  who  answers  questions  an'  kin  tell 
Pap  Curtain  whut  he  wants  to  know.  Most  of  you 
knows  my  visit  to  dis  town  is  to  organize  a  school 
of  flyin'  niggers.  Some  of  you  knows  how  to  run 
automobiles,  an'  so  you  kin  ride  over  de  country. 
I  wants  to  learn  you  how  to  fly  through  de  sky  jes' 
as  easy  as  you  walk  on  de  ground.  Atter  you  have 
got  de  lesson  in  yo'  mind,  I  will  he'p  you  to  buy  a 
cheap  airship  from  de  gover'ment,  an'  den  you 
will  be  fixed  jes'  like  Gawd  intended  fer  a  nigger 
to  be." 

Pap  Curtain  sprang  to  his  feet,  waved  his  hat 
in  the  air,  and  exclaimed  in  a  loud  voice : 

"I've  heard  tell  of  dese  flyin'  fellers,  but  I  ain't 
never  seen  one  fly.  Ef  dis  visitin'  brudder  has 
come  to  give  an  exhibition  I  favors  it!" 

"Dat's  whut  he  has  come  to  do,"  Hitch  assured 
him. 

*'Whar  is  yo'  flyin'-machine  at?"  Pap  howled. 

*'Out  in  de  Little  Moccasin  prairie,"  Red  told 
him. 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  313 

"Less  go  out  an'  take  a  look  at  it!"  Pap 
exclaimed. 

"I  favor  it,"  three  hundred  negroes  shouted  in 
a  chorus. 

"I  nominates  myself  to  lead  de  peerade!" 
Vinegar  Atts  vociferated. 

The  movement  was  so  unanimous  that  Red 
Cutt  was  frightened.  He  had  no  desire  to  go  out 
to  that  airplane  in  the  dark.  He  remembered  a 
negro  who  had  come  to  a  little  town  where  he  had 
lived  once  and  had  pretended  to  be  able  to  walk 
on  the  water.  He  posed  as  a  divine  healer,  and  a 
frequently  made  statement  was:  *'I  kin  walk  on 
de  water,  but  I  don't  want  to."  Thereupon  some 
skeptical  negroes  had  carried  him  down  to  the 
banks  of  the  Mississippi  and  tossed  him  headlong 
into  the  yellow  stream,  insisting  that  he  give  them 
a  demonstration  of  his  ability  to  do  what  he  said 
he  could  do.  They  had  fished  this  divine  healer 
out  of  the  river  with  a  hook  and  rolled  him  on  a 
barrel  for  an  hour  before  he  showed  the  least  sign 
of  returning  consciousness.  Red  Cutt  was  ap- 
palled by  the  thought  of  what  might  happen  to 
him  if  that  mob  of  negroes  insisted  upon  his  giving 
a  trial  flight. 

"Come  on,  niggers!"  Vinegar  Atts  bellowed. 
**Less  go  out  an'  see  de  flyin'-machine!" 

Three  hundred  negroes  moved  their  feet  as  one 
man.  Hitch  Diamond  laid  his  hand  upon  the  arm 
of  Red  Cutt  about  as  a  policeman  would  put  a  man 


314  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

under  arrest.  Vinegar  stepped  forward  and  got 
on  the  other  side  of  the  aviator,  and  they  con- 
ducted him  down  the  rickety  stairs  of  the  lodge 
room  and  led  the  procession  that  formed  in  a  strag- 
gling line  in  the  middle  of  the  sandy  street. 

It  was  a  night  in  which  the  moon  shone  in  all 
its  glory — such  a  moon  as  glows  over  the  Louisiana 
swamps  when  the  humidi:ty  of  the  atmosphere 
seems  to  focus  the  rays  in  startling  brightness  on 
every  object.  The  negro  is  like  a  cat,  sleepy  and 
dull  during  the  day;  but  he  wakes  up  at  night, 
and  is  a  prowler  in  the  streets  and  woods  and  fields. 
It  was  four  miles  to  the  Little  Moccasin  prairie, 
but  that  tramping  crowd  of  men  thought  nothing 
of  that,  and  as  they  marched  they  sang,  keeping 
step  to  music  that  carried  echoes  of  the  African 
jimgle,  and  those  minor  tones  which  are  charac- 
teristic of  all  people  who  have  been  enslaved  since 
the  ancient  days  when  subjugated  Israel  in  the 
land  of  Egypt  "hung  their  harps  on  the  willows." 

"Look  here,  niggers,"  Red  said  to  Vinegar  and 
Hitch.  *'  Dis  is  not  de  proper  night  to  take  a  ride 
in  a  airplane.  De  moon  is  shining  too  dang  bright. 
Ef  I  git  up  fawty  thousand  foots  in  de  air,  an'  look 
down  at  the  yearth  in  dis  moonlight,  eve'ything 
below  me  would  look  like  a  smooth  sheet  of  white 
paper.  I  never  would  know  whar  I  come  from, 
an'  I  wouldn't  know  whar  to  land,  an'  I  might 
drif  off,  whar  nobody  never  could  find  me,  an* 
whar  I  cain't  never  git  back  here." 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  315 

"We  don't  want  nothin'  like  dat,"  Hitch  Dia- 
mond growled.     "We  cain't  affode  to  lose  you." 

"Ef  dese  niggers  insist  on  me  takin'  a  ride,  how 
is  we  gwine  prevent  it?"  Red  Cutt  inquired. 

"I'll  tell  you,"  Vinegar  replied.  "When  we 
gits  out  whar  de  airship  is  at,  I'll  make  *em  a 
speech." 

In  an  hour  they  reached  that  point  in  the  Little 
Moccasin  prairie  where  the  airplane  rested  on  the 
smooth  short  grass.  When  they  approached  that 
wonder-mechanism  of  man's  hand  and  brain,  the 
negroes  became  reverently  silent,  and  yet  that 
silence  was  vocal  with  the  weird,  nerve-racking 
funereal  sounds  of  the  swamp.  Great  bullfrogs 
bellowed  like  multitudinous  lost  cattle;  a  wildcat 
screamed  like  the  tones  of  a  woman  in  great  pain 
and  fright ;  and  the  swamp  wolves  galloped  to  the 
edge  of  the  clearing  and  barked  at  them  with  all 
the  annoying  impertinence  of  fice  dogs. 

Vinegar  Atts  did  not  like  the  looks  of  the  air- 
ship. It  was  the  first  he  had  ever  seen,  and  it  bore 
too  much  resemblance  to  a  wasp,  and  looked  very 
much  as  if  it  might  carry  a  dangerous  stinger  in  its 
tail.  With  the  true  orator's  instinct  for  dramatic 
effect,  he  looked  around  to  find  the  most  impres- 
sive place  for  him  to  stand.  Not  at  the  tail,  be- 
cause that  might  be  dangerous;  not  at  the  sides, 
for  wasp  might  flap  its  wings ;  so  he  moved  up  in 
front  and  stood  looking  with  great  interest  at  a 
wheel  of  paddles  right  in  front  of  the  machine. 


3i6  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

That  did  not  look  good  to  him,  either,  so  he  backed 
off  well  out  of  range,  and  announced : 

"Brudders  of  the  Nights  of  Darkness  lodge,  as 
far  as  I  knows,  dar  ain't  only  two  niggers  in  dis 
crowd  dat  ever  seen  one  of  dese  things  befo',  but 
dis  here  chariot  of  fire  ain't  no  new  thing.  De 
Prophet  Elijah  went  up  in  one  of  'em  to  heaven." 

** Bless  Gawd!"  a  negro's  voice  exclaimed 
reverently. 

Then  in  his  rich  barytone  voice,  Vinegar  Atts 
began  to  sing,  and  one  by  one  the  voices  of  the 
negroes  joined  in : 

"  I  rode  on  de  sky, 
Went  up  mighty  high, 

Nor  did  envy  Elijah  his  seat; 
My  soul  mounted  higher 
In  a  chariot  of  fire, 

And  the  moon,  it  wus  under  my  feet." 

In  the  melody  of  this  song  all  the  weird,  jungle 
voices  of  the  swamp  were  silenced.  It  seemed  as 
if  every  bird  and  beast  stood  still  to  listen,  and 
the  Gulf  breeze,  playing  over  the  fluted  tree-tops, 
made  a  beautiful,  Eolian  accompaniment  to  the 
rich  African  voices. 

Startled  eyes  glanced  up  at  that  moon  which 
rode  majestically  through  the  still  oceans  of  the  sky, 
and  the  soul  of  every  man  was  filled  with  awe  at 
the  thought  of  having  that  globe  of  glowing  yellow 
under  his  brogan-shod  feet.     It  was  a  thought  to 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  317 

stir  the  Ethiopian  soul  to  its  depths,  laying  hold 
upon  the  rich  Oriental  imagination,  appealing  to 
the  jungle  heritage  of  superstition,  and  causing  them 
to  thrill  with  mingled  feelings  of  rapture  and  fear. 

Vinegar  Atts  knew  the  value  of  the  oratorical 
pause;  he  waited  until  the  sighing  of  the  trees 
and  the  radiance  of  the  moonbeams  had  touched 
even  the  most  stupid  mind  among  them.  And 
then  in  a  deep,  solemn  voice  he  continued: 

''Way  back  in  de  Ole  Testarment  day  whar 
people  lived  forty  thousan*  years  ago,  de  Prophet 
Ezekiel  tell'  us  about  dis  here  machine.  I  wus 
readin'  it  to-night,  and  dis  is  whut  de  Good  Book 
says  *. 

"'I  looked  an'  behold  in  de  firmament  dat  wus 
above  my  head,  dar  wus  de  appearance  of  de  like- 
ness of  a  throne ' " 

"My  Gawd!"  an  awed  voice  exclaimed,  as  all 
the  negroes  turned  and  looked  at  the  seat  in  tbe 
airplane.     Vinegar  Atts  resumed : 

'"Dar  appeared  in  de  cherubim  de  form  of  a 
man's  hand  under  de  wings,  an'  when  I  looked, 
behold,  four  wheels  as  ef  a  wheel  had  been  in  de 
midst  of  a  wheel.  An'  when  de  cherubim  went,  de 
wheels  went  wid  him ' " 

"My — good — gosh!"  Pap  Curtain  interrupted 
with  his  snarling  voice,  his  tone  surcharged  with 
terror. 

Vinegar  Atts  paid  no  heed  to  the  interruption, 
but  went  on  in  a  voice  that  was  like  a  great  bellow : 


3i8  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

***De  cherubim  lifted  up  deir  wings  to  mount 
from  de  yearth,  an'  de  same  wheels  turned  not  from 
beside  dem;  when  dey  stood,  dese  stood,  an'  when 
dey  wus  lifted  up,  dese  lifted  up  demselves  also, 
fer  de  spirit  of  de  livin'  creature  wus  in  dem,  an'  de 
cherubim  lifted  up  deir  wings  an'  mounted  from  de 
yearth  in  my  sight. ' " 

With  the  utterance  of  the  last  word.  Vinegar 
waved  his  hand  in  a  dramatic  gesture  toward  the 
sky.  There  was  one  dark  cloud  in  all  the  clearness 
of  the  atmosphere,  a  mass  of  fog  and  mist  which 
had  risen  from  the  Gulf  of  Mexico  and  was  scud- 
ding with  amazing  speed  before  the  stiff,  salty 
breeze  from  the  south.  The  negroes  glanced  up 
at  that  cloud  and  watched  it  as  it  became  smaller, 
sped  to  the  edge  of  the  horizon  made  by  the  forest, 
and  disappeared  from  their  sight.  It  seemed  to 
them  that  some  winged  creature  of  the  sky  had 
sailed  above  them,  and  Vinegar,  in  his  great  superb 
barytone  voice,  began  to  sing: 

"Let  de  chariot  of  fire  roll  by, 
De  sooner  earth's  trials  and  sorrers  shall  cease, 
De  sooner  us'll  enter  de  mansions  of  peace — 
Let  de  chariot  of  fire  roll  by!" 

The  famous  Tickfall  quartet  was  there.  In- 
stantly Hitcli  Diamond,  Skeeter  Butts,  and  Figger 
Bush  chimed  in,  and  the  song  swept  out  across  the 
silence  of  the  swamp,  echoing  in  that  vast  green- 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  3^9 

house  of  vegetation  which  grew  in  such  rank  pro- 
fusion. From  the  throats  of  three  hundred  negroes 
issued  a  low,  moaning  wail  in  perfect  harmony 
with  the  music. 

Vinegar  Atts  and  Hitch  Diamond  turned  and 
walked  away.  Skeeter  Butts  and  Figger  Bush 
followed,  still  singing,  and  the  other  negroes  forgot 
the  purpose  for  which  they  had  walked  four  miles 
into  the  woods,  and  meekly,  without  protestation, 
trailed  their  leaders  back  to  the  town. 

After  all,  they  had  seen  enough  to  pay  them  for 
their  trip.  They  had  seen  an  airplane  for  the  first 
time.  They  had  something  to  think  about;  some- 
thing to  talk  about,  and,  as  for  the  flight  of  Red 
Cutt,  they  had  something  to  anticipate. 

One  man  alone  was  dissatisfied,  but  he  was  al- 
ways dissatisfied.  The  sneer  on  Pap  Curtain's 
lips  was  more  pronounced,  and  the  snarl  in  his 
voice  was  accentuated  as  he  said  to  those  who 
plodded  along  in  the  rear  of  the  procession : 

"Dat  Red  Cutt  wus  pretty  sharp  when  he  side- 
tracked his  ride  in  dat  airplane  fer  a  speech  by 
Elder  Vinegar  Atts.  But  dat  nigger  can't  excape 
away,  an'  I'll  make  him  fly  yit  or  know  the  reason 
why." 

The  other  negroes  did  not  answer.  They  were 
too  busy  harmonizing  with  the  Tickfall  quartet: 

"Swing  low,  sweet  chariot, 
Coming  to  carry  me  home." 


320  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

VI 

A  FEATHER  IN  HIS  HAT 

Early  the  next  morning  there  were  four  men 
who  paid  a  visit  to  all  the  negro  settlements  in 
Tickfall.  They  explained  that  they  were  a  can- 
vassing committee  who  were  soliciting  members 
for  the  High  Exalted  Negro  Flying  Club. 

Red  Cutt  had  told  them  that  it  was  impossible  to 
teach  three  hundred  negroes  at  one  time  the  art  of 
aviation.  The  classes  could  not  consist  of  more 
than  one  hundred,  but  he  was  willing  to  teach 
as  many  as  wanted  to  learn.  He  said  that  he  would 
have  to  divide  them  into  three  classes,  and  instruct 
just  one  class  at  a  time. 

It  was  the  Tickfall  Big  Four  who  did  the  can- 
vassing, and  after  a  while  there  was  a  disagreement 
among  them.  The  religious  adherents  of  Vinegar's 
church  fell  out  like  the  early  disciples  over  the 
question  of  "Who  should  be  greatest?" 

They  went  back  to  Red  Cutt  and  presented  the 
matter  to  him. 

"Who's  gwine  be  president  of  dis  here  club?" 
Skeeter  Butts  demanded. 

"I  thinks  you  ought  to  be  presidunt,"  Red  told 
him,  "because  you  done  had  some  expe'unce  as  a 
ilyin'  man." 

"Ain't  dar  no  mo'  jobs  connected  wid  dis  club ?  '* 
Vinegar  Atts  inquired. 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  321 

^'Suttinly,"  Red  told  him.  "I  appoints  you 
observer  right  now." 

"What  do  a  observer  do?"  Vinegar  Atts  in- 
quired. 

' '  He  sets  up  in  de  airplane  an'  looks  at  de  scenery 
an'  lets  de  worl'  go  by." 

**Dat  suits  me,"  Vinegar  bellowed.  "Settin* 
down  an'  lookin'  at  things  is  a  easy,  high,  hon'able 
job." 

"I  needs  a  job,  too,"  Hitch  Diamond  grumbled. 

"I  app'ints  you  mechanic,"  Red  Cutt  an- 
nounced promptly.  *'Git  yo'  tools  an'  all  yo* 
wipin'  rags  an'  git  ready  fer  de  job  of  keepin'  dat 
machine  in  order." 

"Whut  do  I  git  to  do?"  Figger  Bush  wanted  to 
know. 

"I  nomer nates  you  stabilizer." 

**Does  dat  mean  dat  I  keeps  de  stable  whar  de 
machine  stays  at?"  Figger  Bush  inquired. 

"Yep,  you  is  de  high  boss  keeper  of  the  hangar, 
an'  yo'  job  is  to  steady  the  machine  when  folks 
climbs  in  an'  climbs  out." 

That  each  negro  was  satisfied  with  his  job  was 
apparent  from  the  fact  that  he  took  out  a  cigarette 
and  lighted  it,  and  sat  for  a  while  in  silent  medita- 
tion.    At  last  Vinegar  spoke. 

"We  done  collected  up  over  a  hundred  dollars 
already." 

The  eyes  of  Red  Cutt  glowed  like  the  little  green 
eyes  of  a  pig.     He  wet  his  lips  with  his  tongue  as 


322  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

if  he  could  already  taste  that  money.  His  fingers 
twitched  and  he  clasped  them  together  covetously, 
saying,  in  a  voice  that  was  hungry  with  desire : 

"Gimme  dat  money,  quick,  niggers.  I  always 
demands  my  pay  in  eggsvance." 

The  four  negroes  promptly  emptied  their  pockets 
of  the  money  they  had  collected,  and  Red  Cutt 
drew  a  large  buckskin  bag  from  his  coat-pocket  and 
eagerly  stuffed  the  soiled  currency  into  its  depths. 

"I  thinks  eve'y  nigger  dat  pays  his  dollar  out 
ought  to  be  allowed  to  wear  some  kind  of  badge  what 
shows  dat  be  belongs,"  Vinegar  Atts  remarked. 

"I  forgot  to  tell  you  about  dat,  nigger,"  Red 
Cutt  replied  promptly.  "So  I  wants  you  to  pass 
de  word  down  de  line  to  eve'y  nigger  dat  paid  his 
dollar  dat  he  must  get  a  chicken  feather  and  wear 
it  stuck  up  in  his  hat." 

By  two  o'clock  that  afternoon,  one  hundred 
negroes  in  Tickfall  suddenly  sprouted  feathers,  and 
refused  to  tell  in  answer  to  any  inquiry  just  what 
those  feathers  meant,  for  if  a  negro  organizes  a 
club  or  lodge,  it  is  always  a  secret  organization. 

It  was  Sunday  afternoon. 

That  morning.  Vinegar,  at  the  Shoofiy  church, 
made  many  eloquent  references  to  the  chariot  of 
fire,  to  the  men  from  the  sky,  to  the  machine  that 
had  a  wheel  in  the  midst  of  a  wheel,  and  a  form  of  a 
man's  hand  under  the  wings.  It  was  just  the  sort 
of  mysterious,  high-sounding,  and  meaningless  ser- 
mon that  would  catch  the  fancy  of  his  emotional 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  323 

and  imaginative  parishioners  and  the  services  at 
the  Shoofly  church  on  that  particular  morning 
were  memorable. 

At  the  most  dramatic  point  of  Vinegar's  ha- 
rangue, the  colored  clergyman  took  a  letter  out 
of  his  pocket  and  read  it  to  his  congregation  with 
many  theatrical  flourishes. 

There  are  big  corporations  in  this  country  who 
do  a  large  mail-order  business.  Of  necessity,  they 
must  have  a  large  mailing-list,  and  in  order  to  ac- 
quire it  they  pay  two  cents  for  every  name  and 
address  that  is  furnished  them.  Very  much  of 
that  money  is  wasted  in  the  South,  and  a  great  deal 
of  their  literature  is  squandered,  for  the  reason 
that  those  who  sell  these  addresses  do  not  care 
whether  it  is  the  name  of  a  man  white  or  black. 

Many  negroes  who  cannot  read  get  regular  let- 
ters from  great  mail-order  houses,  and  other  large 
corporations  who  have  something  to  sell  will  fre- 
quently address  a  letter  to  a  colored  man  who 
cannot  read  it,  and  cannot  understand  it  when  it 
is  read  to  him. 

By  this  method  Vinegar  Atts  had  acquired  the 
letter,  which  he  was  now  parading  before  his  con- 
gregation, and  which  he  read  in  a  loud,  clear  voice : 

"Rev.  Vinegar  Atts, 
"Tickfall,  Louisiana. 
*  *  Dear  Sir  :    Draw  up  your  chair  just  a  little  closer ; 
listen  carefully  and  we  will  suggest  to  you  how  to  make 
some  money  by  investing  a  small  amount. 


324  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

"We  are  going  to  tell  you  about  that  opportunity 
you  have  been  waiting  for  all  your  life.  We  are  going 
to  let  you  in  on  one  of  the  best  propositions  offered 
since  manufacturers  tried  to  interest  people  financially 
in  the  automobile  yesLts  ago. 

"The  war  is  over — peace  is  here — the  airplane 
helped  win  that  victory,  and  now  the  airplane  will 
rapidly  take  the  place  of  the  automobile  and  the  truck 
in  commercial  life, 

"The  man  who  makes  money  is  the  man  who  has 
the  courage  to  back  up  his  convictions.  While  money 
can  be  earned  by  labor,  it  can  be  multiplied  only  by 
investment.  We  offer  you  an  opportunity  to  get  in 
on  the  ground  floor  of  this  money-making  proposition 
and  reap  the  tremendous  profits  which  we  believe  are 
bound  to  follow. 

"  Please  read  the  enclosed  folder  carefully,  and  then 
if  you  decide  you  want  to  invest  a  modest  sum  and 
see  it  grow,  let  us  hear  from  you  at  once." 

Laying  this  letter  aside,  Vinegar  spread  open  a 
folder  to  the  gaze  of  his  congregation.  It  contained 
impressive  pictures  of  airplanes,  and  hydroplanes, 
of  factories,  and  of  work  upon  the  big  machines  in 
their  various  stages  of  development. 

"One  dollar  is  a  mighty  modest  sum,  brudder," 
Vinegar  bellowed.  "Eve'y  man  whut  is  got  a 
dollar  ought  to  git  in  on  de  ground  floor  of  dis 
money-makin'  proposition  an'  reap  de  tremendous 
profits  which  is  bound  to  follow  behind.  Dar  is  a 
flyin' -school  teacher  in  dis  town  now,  and  I  con- 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  325 

siders  it  a  religious  thing  to  endorse  his  bizzness 
an'  to  git  up  a  lot  of  learners  in  his  flyin' -school." 

It  was  whispered  among  the  folks  at  the  church 
that  the  first  lesson  in  the  art  of  flying  would  be 
given  in  the  Little  Moccasin  prairie  where  the 
airplane  was.  So  very  early  in  the  afternoon  a 
long  procession  of  negroes  moved  in  that  direction, 
and  a  very  curious  crowd  had  assembled  about  the 
machine.  When  the  aviator,  Red  Cutt,  made  his 
appearance,  he  stood  by  the  machine  and  delivered 
a  harangue,  explaining  various  parts  of  the  ma- 
chine, and  calling  them  by  certain  names  which 
would  have  been  very  interesting  if  heard  in  the 
aviation  schools  of  this  country. 

Being  familiar  with  the  automobile,  he  could 
make  a  pretty  shrewd  guess  at  some  things;  but 
he  also  had  that  inestimable  advantage  which 
comes  to  the  man  who  pretends  to  know  when  all 
others  profess  their  ignorance. 

A  few  minutes  later,  Hitch  arrived.  He  carried 
an  immense  sack  full  of  all  sorts  of  tools.  There 
was  even  an  instrument  for  digging  in  the  ground 
in  that  assortment,  for  Hitch  was  evidently  ready, 
as  the  chief  mechanic,  to  meet  all  emergencies. 
He  carried  also  a  large  bag  of  cotton,  with  which 
he  intended  to  wipe  off  the  machinery  and  keep 
everything  shining  and  bright  just  like  new. 

Skeeter  arrived,  looked  at  the  machine,  and 
listened  to  Red  Cutt  explaining  its  uses  and  ma- 
nipulations to  the  crowd.     He  saw  Hitch  crawling 


326  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

around  underneath,  wiping  the  wheels  with  cotton, 
and  pretending  to  be  very  busy,  while  actually 
afraid  to  touch  anything  he  saw  under  there. 

Skeeter  decided  that  his  place  on  the  program 
was  to  be  seated  in  the  machine.  The  negroes 
very  eagerly  lifted  him  up,  and  as  he  took  his  place 
on  the  seat,  he  felt  that  he  had  reached  the  highest 
point  of  prominence  in  his  entire  career. 

Vinegar  Atts,  who  had  lingered  too  long  at  his 
Sunday  dinner,  was  the  last  to  arrive,  and  when  he 
rode  up  in  his  little  automobile  and  saw  Skeeter 
Butts  seated  in  the  airplane  like  a  king  upon  the 
throne,  he  was  glad,  indeed,  that  he  had  been 
elected  to  the  high  office  of  observer. 

He  pushed  his  way  through  the  crowd  and 
bawled  at  Skeeter : 

"Hey,  Skeeter!  I  wants  to  set  up  dar  wid 
you." 

"Dar  ain't  no  room  to  set  wid  me,"  Skeeter 
announced.  "Dar  ain't  but  one  seat,  an'  I  am 
in  it." 

"But  I  got  to  set  up  dar!  I'm  de  observer!** 
Vinegar  howled. 

Thereupon  he  clambered  up  into  the  machine, 
lifted  Skeeter  out  of  his  place,  sat  down  on  the 
seat  himself,  and  let  Skeeter  sit  on  his  knee ! 

At  this  point  Hitch  Diamond  climbed  out  from 
under  the  airplane,  stuck  a  handful  of  dirty  cotton 
waste  into  the  bag  that  contained  the  rest  of  the 
cotton,  and  tossed  the  bag  into  the  lap  of  Skeeter. 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  327 

**You  two  niggers  put  dis  sack  of  cotton  in  the 
tool-box  under  de  seat ! "  Hitch  Diamond  bellowed. 

"I  cain't  find  de  tool-box,*'  Vinegar  said. 

"Well,  put  it  under  yo*  foots  den,"  Hitch  told 
him.  'Ter  you  got  to  take  dat  sack  of  wipin* 
cotton  wharever  you  go." 

VII 

THE  SIGN  OF  AVIATORS 

As  the  negroes  had  gone  out  toward  the  Little 
Moccasin  Swamp,  all  of  them  had  passed  a  buggy 
that  was  moving  at  the  slowest  gait  of  the  horse. 
The  driving  lines  were  wrapped  around  the  whip, 
the  horse  moved  sedately  and  slowly  down  the 
middle  of  the  road.  On  the  seat  of  the  buggy  was 
a  young  man  who  seemed  to  be  able  to  see  nothing 
but  the  girl  who  sat  beside  him;  and  if  any  other 
man  had  been  blind  to  the  presence  of  that  girl,  it 
could  have  been  said  of  him  that  he  had  no  ap- 
preciation of  feminine  beauty  and  loveliness.  As 
the  buggy  passed  the  long,  straggling  procession 
of  negroes,  there  was  one  fact  so  striking  that  the 
man  asked : 

''What  are  all  these  people  wearing  chicken 
feathers  in  their  hats  for?" 

"I  don't  know,"  the  girl  answered.  "Nobody 
can  tell  what  a  negro  is  going  to  do." 

The  negroes  turned  off  into  a  little  bridle  path, 


328  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

leaving  the  road  free  for  the  horse  and  buggy,  and 
the  young  folks  promptly  forgot  them.  But  when 
they  drove  at  the  same  leisurely  gait  into  Tickfall, 
they  passed  the  Hen-Scratch  saloon.  There  they 
beheld  a  diminutive  darky,  dressed  in  ragged 
clothes,  seated  in  a  disconsolate  attitude  on  the 
curbstone  in  front  of  that  popular  barroom.  His 
name  was  Little  Bit,  and  both  noticed  that  he  wore 
a  chicken  feather  in  his  hat. 

For  some  reason  the  horse  stopped  in  front  of 
the  barroom.  Possibly  the  animal  had  been  there 
before.  The  young  man  and  woman  did  not  ob- 
ject, for  they  had  no  destination  in  mind,  and  it 
really  did  not  matter  where  they  went  or  where 
they  were. 

' '  Look  here,  colored  boy ! ' '  Jim  spoke.  * '  What 
are  you  and  all  the  other  negroes  wearing  that 
feather  in  your  hat  for?" 

"Dat  sign  is  fer  aviators,  boss,"  Little  Bit 
answered. 

Miss  Juan  Chieniere  turned  and  shot  a  signifi- 
cant glance  at  the  young  man  sitting  beside  her. 

That  young  man's  face  turned  as  white  as  milk. 
The  lines  of  gentleness  and  good  nature  around 
his  mouth  changed  until  the  whole  face  was  drawn 
in  lineaments  of  desperate  recklessness.  The  one 
thought  in  his  mind,  of  course,  was  that  a  scouting 
party  had  been  sent  out  to  look  for  the  lost  air- 
plane, and  the  aviators  had  come  to  Tickfall.  He 
had  no  idea  what  punishment  would  await  him  at 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  329 

the  aviation  camp  if  he  was  captured  in  Tickfall 
and  taken  back. 

Something  of  his  great  danger  was  conceived  by 
the  girl,  and  she  asked  in  a  nervous  voice : 

''What  aviators,  Little  Bit?" 

"I  dunno.  Miss  Jew-ann,"  Little  Bit  answered. 
"But  all  de  niggers  has  gone  out  to  the  Little 
Moccasin  prairie  to  see  the  airships.  Dey  wouldn't 
let  me  go.  Dey  made  me  stay  at  home  and  take 
keer  of  de  saloon." 

This  remark  confirmed  Jim  Gannaway's  fears 
that  the  scouting  party  had  really  arrived  in  Tick- 
fall.  He  had  scanned  the  horizon  many  times 
since  his  arrival  in  that  neighborhood  on  the  even- 
ing before,  and  he  wondered  how  that  scouting 
party  had  arrived  without  his  seeing  them.  His 
soul  was  tormented  with  anxiety,  and  he  turned 
and  looked  at  the  girl  as  if  he  was  seeing  her  for 
the  last  time.  Dismounting  from  the  buggy,  he 
stood  close  beside  her  and  said : 

"Juan,  I  took  a  desperate  risk  in  coming  from 
the  aviation  camp  to  see  you.  I  could  not  borrow 
a  machine  for  the  purpose,  and  could  not  have  got 
leave  of  absence,  so  I  had  to  swipe  a  machine.  I 
told  3''ou  I  had  come  to  get  your  promise  to  marry 
me,  but  I  cannot  ask  you  now  because  I  have  no 
idea  what  they  will  do  to  me  when  they  take  me 
back  to  camp." 

"What  about  that  beautiful  lie,  Jim?"  she 
asked  with  trembling  lips. 


330  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

**It  would  have  been  all  right  if  I  had  made  my 
way  back  to  the  camp  without  being  caught ;  but 
now  they  have  come  after  me,  and  there  is  nothing 
for  me  to  tell  but  the  beautiful  truth." 

**What  is  the  beautiful  truth,  Jim?"  she  asked. 

**It  is  that  I  loved  you  so  much  that  I  was  will- 
ing to  take  the  most  desperate  chances  to  see  you. 
Whatever  may  happen  to  me  for  what  I  have  done 
will  be  but  a  small  payment  exacted  from  me  in 
return  for  the  pleasure  I  have  had." 

With  the  adorable  impudence  of  the  French- 
woman, Miss  Juan  straightened  back  in  the  buggy 
and  looked  at  him  with  eyes  that  sparkled. 

"I  have  a  beautiful  truth  to  say,  also,"  she  as- 
serted. * '  It  is,  that  I  love  you,  and  if  you  ever  get 
out  of  your  troubles  alive  I  will  marry  you ;  and 
if  you  get  killed  for  what  you  have  done,  I  will 
mourn  for  you  forever  and  forever." 

She  reached  out  and  drew  his  head  to  her  and 
kissed  him. 

*'Go!"  she  said,  as  she  pointed  toward  the  Little 
Moccasin  Swamp,  "and  remember  that  my  love 
goes  with  you." 

He  did  not  hesitate  a  moment,  but  turned  and 
left  her,  pausing  only  to  wave  back  at  her  as  he 
passed  out  of  sight  around  the  nearest  corner. 
The  girl  turned  her  buggy  and  started  slowly  back 
toward  her  home,  her  heart  heavy  and  her  lovely 
face  picturing  her  wretchedness. 

To  all  of  this,  Little  Bit  had  been  an  interested 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  331 

witness.  It  was  a  free  show,  no  charge  for  admis- 
sion; the  first  time  in  his  hfe  he  had  seen  a  love 
scene  between  two  white  folks. 

It  was  evidently  funny  to  him,  for  he  sat  there 
laughing  aloud,  and  his  laugh  bore  a  strong  re- 
semblance to  the  cackling  of  a  hen. 

VIII 

GOING  up! 

On  the  Little  Moccasin  prairie  the  excitement 
and  enjoyment  of  the  negroes  were  at  their 
greatest  height. 

The  feeling  of  awe  toward  the  airplane  had 
passed  away.  One  by  one  they  had  climbed  up 
into  the  seat.  After  a  while  they  seated  Skeeter 
Butts  and  Vinegar  Atts  in  the  machine,  and  every 
man  that  had  paid  his  dollar  and  wore  his  feather 
in  his  cap  took  his  turn  at  helping  to  push  the  air- 
plane over  the  ground.  It  was  followed  by  all  the 
other  negroes  who  shouted  and  whooped  as  it 
bumped  along  over  the  prairie  like  some  awkward, 
stiff -legged,  ridiculous  bird  which  spumed  the 
earth  and  felt  like  it  was  a  disgrace  to  be  upon  the 
ground. 

In  the  midst  of  this  excitement,  with  its  noise  of 
laughter  and  the  shouting,  James  Gannaway  ap- 
peared at  the  edge  of  the  swamp  and  looked  out 
over  the  field  with  a  real  fear  that  he  had  never 


332  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

felt,  even  in  the  most  dangerous  situations  in  the 
air. 

What  he  saw  filled  his  heart  with  joy.  No  more 
fear  that  scouting  planes  had  found  the  lost  ma- 
chine. All  that  the  feathers  in  the  hats  of  the 
negroes  meant  was  that  the  blacks  of  Tickfall 
had  found  the  hidden  airplane.  He  waited  until 
they  had  pushed  the  machine  near  to  where  he 
stood  concealed  in  the  dense  foliage  of  the  swamp. 
At  that  moment  Vinegar  Atts  and  Skeeter  stood 
up  from  their  seats  in  the  machine  and  began  to 
sing.  It  was  one  of  the  best-loved  songs  among 
the  negroes,  and  that  great  crowd  sent  it  echoing 
through  the  majestic  forest  with  their  mighty 
organ  tones  until  James  Gannaway  wondered 
that  the  human  voice  could  express  such  music. 

"O  come,  angel  band! 

Come,  an'  aroun'  me  stand ! 
O  bear  me  away  on  yo'  snowy  wings 

To  my  immortal  home ; 
O  bear  me  away  on  yo*  snowy  wings 

To  my  immortal  home." 

At  the  conclusion  of  the  song,  for  some  reason, 
both  Vinegar  and  Skeeter  climbed  out  of  the  ma- 
chine. Then  Gannaway  stepped  forth,  waved  a 
dispersing  hand,  and  exclaimed : 

**You  niggers,  get  to  hell  away  from  here!" 
Nothing  could  have  surprised  the  negroes  more 
than  the  appearance  of  this  white  man.     Up  to 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  333 

that  very  moment  they  had  never  questioned 
that  the  machine  belonged  to  the  negro,  Red  Cutt. 
When  they  heard  that  voice  of  command  and 
turned  their  startled  eyes  to  Gannaway,  they 
pushed  backward  in  their  fright  and  scattered 
across  the  prairie  like  so  many  chickens. 

Gannaway  sprang  lightly  into  the  machine  and 
started  the  engine.  Three  times  in  rapid  suc- 
cession the  engine  back-fired,  and  the  sound  was 
so  similar  to  the  explosion  of  a  big  army  pistol  that 
the  negroes  believed  the  white  man  was  shooting 
at  them.  Then  came  the  steady  exhaust  of  the 
engine,  cracking  like  a  rapid-fire  machine-gun,  and 
every  negro  fell  flat  on  his  face  to  dodge  the  bullets 
he  thought  were  flying  all  around  him. 

The  machine  went  hopping  awkwardly  across 
the  long  level  stretch  of  ground,  and  the  negroes 
raised  their  heads  like  so  many  black  lizards, 
watching  to  see  if  the  white  man  was  shooting 
toward  them. 

A  moment  later  five  hundred  negroes  gave  ut- 
terance to  an  astounded  **Ah!" 

Of  that  great  crowd,  Vinegar  Atts  and  Red  Cutt 
had  seen  the  airplane  land;  if  Skeeter  Butts  was 
not  lying,  he  was  the  third  of  the  crowd  who  had 
seen  an  airplane  in  the  air.  Not  one  of  the  others 
had  ever  witnessed  such  a  flight,  and  this  universal 
exclamation  emerged  from  their  throats  when 
they  saw  the  machine  rise  from  the  ground  like  a 
wild  goose  and  go  sailing  over  the  tops  of  the  trees. 


334  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

Five  htindred  negroes  lying  flat  upon  the 
ground,  with  their  noses  almost  touching  the  dirt, 
put  their  hands  on  the  feathers  in  their  hats,  to  be 
sure  that  their  insignia  of  office  had  not  departed 
with  the  machine,  and  repeated  their  exclamation : 
*'Ah!" 

Suddenly  the  entire  forest  seemed  to  become 
vocal  and  scream  in  fright.  Thousands  of  birds 
rose  from  the  trees  and  circled  round  and  round  in 
the  air  as  if  they  were  intoxicated.  The  smaller 
birds  flew  from  tree  to  tree,  moving  in  a  straight 
line,  all  going  in  the  same  direction,  as  they  do 
when  fleeing  before  a  cyclone.  The  pigeons  and 
hawks  shot  straight  up  in  the  air  and  then  tumbled 
over  and  over  as  they  came  down,  as  if  both  wings 
were  broken.  The  great  eagles  rose  like  the  fight- 
ing creatures  they  are  and  threshed  madly  about 
high  up  in  the  heavens,  sending  their  ugly  snarl- 
like cries  down  to  the  earth,  while  from  countless 
pools  in  the  swamp  every  sort  of  water  fowl  rose 
with  hoarse  croaking  voices  and  added  to  the  aerial 
tumult. 

To  the  negroes  it  seemed  that  the  very  skies 
were  dropping  down  upon  them  every  feathered 
creature  God  had  ever  made.  They  saw  fowls  of 
the  air  that  they  did  not  know  existed  under  the 
heavens,  and  they  heard  bird-voices  expressing 
fright  which  possibly  had  never  been  heard  by 
human  beings  before. 

Somewhere  outside  of  their  range  of  vision  the 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  335 

airplane  was  still  moving,  for  they  could  hear  the 
exhaust  like  a  steady  purr  in  the  distance.  Every- 
where that  the  machine  went  it  caused  the  same 
excitement  among  the  birds,  so  that  a  great  multi- 
tude of  these  winged  creatures  were  in  terrified 
flight. 

The  terror  laid  hold  upon  the  animals  in  the 
swamp,  for  there  suddenly  rose  in  a  mighty  chorus 
the  scream  of  the  panther  and  the  wailing  bark  of 
the  wolf  and  the  angry,  frightened  roar  of  the  bear. 
All  the  animals  in  the  vicinity  of  the  Little  Moc- 
casin prairie  very  naturally  ran  toward  that  open 
space;  if  rapid  flight  was  necessary,  any  land 
animal  could  travel  faster  where  there  were  no 
vines  or  stumps  or  trees  or  marshy  places  to  hinder 
flight. 

A  drove  of  wild  hogs,  numbering  several  hun- 
dred, traveling  with  the  speed  and  noise  of  an  ex- 
press train,  and,  like  the  exhaust  of  an  automobile, 
uttering  at  every  jump  their  frightened  exclama- 
tion: "Whoof,  whoof,  whoof !"  swept  across  that 
prairie,  and  every  negro  flattened  himself  upon 
the  ground  where  he  was  lying  and  bawled  aloud 
his  supplication  to  the  Almighty:  "Dat  He 
wouldn't  let  no  wild  ha wg  step  on  him!"  The 
drove  of  hogs  passed  without  damage. 

Then  three  young  deer  came  galloping  across 
the  field,  leaping  over  those  prostrated  bodies  and 
dancing  among  the  men,  women,  and  children 
like   so   many   pet   rabbits.     Behind   them   two 


336  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

panthers  slung  across  the  open  space,  spitting 
venomously  at  something  they  thought  they  had 
left  in  the  woods. 

After  that  something  arrived  upon  the  scene 
which  brought  every  negro  to  his  feet.  Four  black 
bears  came  out  of  the  woods  and  lumbered  over 
and  joined  the  terrified  negroes.  The  black  bear 
of  Louisiana  is  small  and  harmless.  But  to  a 
negro  he  always  looks  extremely  large  and  very 
ferocious.  The  other  wild  animals  that  had 
crossed  the  prairie  seemed  to  have  a  destination, 
and  they  went  on  across. 

When  the  black  bears  came  they  seemed  to  have 
arrived  at  the  place  they  were  going  and  appeared 
to  be  delighted  at  finding  five  or  six  hundred  black 
folks  at  the  same  place  to  receive  them  and  pro- 
tect them.  But  the  negroes  sprang  upon  their 
feet  with  five  or  six  hundred  assorted  yells  of 
terror,  and  were  getting  ready  to  scatter  out  into 
the  woods  when  a  sound  above  their  heads  caused 
them  to  look  up,  and  lo !  the  airplane  had  returned 
and  was  now  three  thousand  feet  above  them. 

It  was  the  gloriously  beautiful  hour  of  sunset. 
The  sky  was  clear  and  the  air  was  still.  In  a  little 
while  the  moon,  which  was  even  then  visible  in  the 
sky,  would  shine  in  full  effulgence,  and  would 
make  an  ideal  night  for  the  return  of  the  airplane 
to  the  aviation  field. 

James  Gannaway  was  feeling  fine,  and  he 
showed  it  by  giving  the  negroes  an  exhibition  of 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  337 

stunt-flying.  If  he  had  known  that  the  negroes 
did  not  appreciate  this  exhibition  for  what  it  was 
worth,  he  doubtless  would  have  done  the  kindly- 
thing  and  gone  on  his  way.  But  when  the  negroes 
looked  up  in  the  air  and  saw  the  machine  not  much 
larger  in  their  sight  than  a  toy,  they  forgot  all 
about  the  frolicking  bears  and  were  petrified  by 
terror  at  the  vision  above  them. 

The  machine  turned  upside  down,  then  righted 
itself,  then  began  to  ascend  in  long,  spiral  glides; 
then  turned  upside  down,  and  the  aviator  flew 
in  that  position  for  some  moments.  Again  the 
machine  righted  itself  and  began  to  mount  up- 
ward until  it  was  hardly  more  than  a  tiny  speck 
in  the  sky.  Hovering  directly  above  them  it 
dived  and  seemed  to  drop  with  the  rapidity  of  a 
falling  star. 

Every  negro  nerved  himself  to  see  the  machine 
crash  down  upon  the  ground,  when  suddenly  it 
turned  and  once  more  began  its  beautiful  flight, 
up  above  the  birds  that  screamed  and  circled  and 
tumbled  in  the  air  like  circus  performers. 

Vinegar  Atts  dropped  upon  his  knees  and  lifted 
up  two  black  hands  in  the  direction  of  the  ascend- 
ing machine  which  now  looked  not  much  larger 
than  a  wasp  and  bawled  aloud : 

"O  Lawd,  ef  you  got  any  pity  on  dis  pore  nigger, 
jes'  keep  dat  machine  a  gwine  up!" 

"Keep  her  gwine  up,  Lawd!"  five  hundred 
voices  wailed  in  a  mighty  chorus  of  endorsement. 


338  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

"O  Lawd,  Thou  hast  told  us  dat  de  early  bird 
ketches  de  worm.  Us  is  pore  worms  of  de  dust! 
Perteck  us  from  dat  cherubim  of  de  sky  wid  de 
hands  of  a  man  under  its  wings!"  Vinegar 
whooped. 

"Perteck  us,  Lawd;  hab  mussy  on  us  wormes!** 
answered  the  frightened  negroes  in  a  mighty 
chorus. 

' '  Keep  dese  here  ole  hawgs  an'  bears  an'  deerses 
off  en  us,  too,  good  Lawd!"  Vinegar  wailed.  "We 
don't  wanter  ax  too  much  of  you-alls,  but  dese 
here  is  perilous  times  fer  pore  he'pless  niggers!" 

"Us  pore  niggers!"  the  chorus  howled.  "O 
Gawd,  de  birds  of  de  air  an'  de  beasts  of  de  field 
is  sot  ag'in'  us,  an'  ef  you  don't  he'p  us,  we  is 
blowed  up  blacks ! " 

"Dar  won't  be  nothin'  left  of  us  but  remain- 
ders!" Vinegar  amended.  "Some  of  us  ain't 
never  axed  you  fer  nothin'  befo',  an'  we  ain't  never 
aimin'  to  pester  you  agin.  But  we  needs  you 
now,  Lawd — dis  here  is  a  groun'-hawg  case!" 

"A  groun'-hawg — case!"  the  negroes  wailed. 

"O  Lawd,  she's  a  gittin'  littler  an'  littler!'* 
Vinegar  whooped.  "She's  gwine  up — gwine  up — 
gwine  up!  Don't  go  back  on  us  now  an'  let  her 
drap  down  no  more !     Keep  her  gwine  up ! " 

"Keep  her  gwine  up!"  the  mob  pleaded. 

The  animal  noises  in  the  swamp  had  ceased. 
The  wild  flight  of  the  birds  had  taken  them  some- 
where else.     The  airplane  was  a  tiny  speck  in  the 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  339 

sunset  sky.  But  the  mighty  emotional  crisis 
through  which  the  negroes  had  passed  left  them 
raving  in  a  delirium  and  acting  like  maniacs. 

Vinegar  Atts  was  temporarily  insane.  The 
other  negroes  were  as  crazy  as  bats.  So,  as  they 
knelt  upon  the  grass  of  the  prairie,  they  began  a 
mighty  antiphony  of  Biblical  quotations,  Vinegar 
leading  the  vociferation  with  a  voice  which  shall 
never  be  excelled  in  volume  until  the  angel  of  time 
shall  stand  with  one  foot  on  the  land  and  the 
other  on  the  sea  and  swear  that  time  shall  be 
no  longer. 

*' I  seed  a  mighty  angel  come  down  from  heaven, 
clothed  wid  a  cloud,  an'  a  rainbow  wus  upon  his 
head — "  Vinegar  roared. 

"An  his  face  wus  as  de  sun  an'  his  foots  wus 
pillars  of  fire!"  the  crowd  answered. 

' '  An'  he  helt  in  his  hand  a  little  book — ' '  Vinegar 
screamed. 

"An  he  sot  his  right  foot  in  de  sea  an'  his  left 
foot  on  de  yearth!"  the  mob  responded. 

"An'  cried  wid  a  loud  voice  as  when  a  lion 
roars!"  Vinegar  vociferated. 

"An'  when  he  had  cried  seben  thunders  uttered 
deir  voices!"  the  people  whooped. 

They  seemed  to  think  that  all  of  this  was  effica- 
cious in  expediting  the  ascent  of  the  airplane,  for 
as  long  as  they  kept  it  up  the  machine  kept  climb- 
ing. 

In  a  moment  it  disappeared  from  their  sight. 


340  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

"She's  gone!"  they  howled  in  a  mighty  chorus 
of  reHef.  "Bless  Gawd,  she's  done  went  up  outen 
our  sight  ferever!" 

IX 

A  BAG  OF  COTTON 

The  negroes  drew  the  first  easy  breath  they  had 
taken  for  several  minutes. 

*  *  Praise  de  Lawd ! ' '  Vinegar  laughed.  *  *  I's  glad 
I  kept  my  good  senses  and  didn't  git  skeart!" 

"Skeart!"  Hitch  Diamond  mocked  derisively. 
"You  wus  so  skeart  you  wus  squealin'  like  a  burnt 

pig!" 

"I  warn't  really  a  coward,"  Vinegar  said  defen- 
sively. ' '  But  I  wus  sort  of  discreet.  An'  I  wusn't 
by  myself  in  dat — dis  whole  mob  of  niggers  wus 
movin'  from  side  to  side  in  dis  here  prairie  like 
butter-beans  b'ilin'  in  a  kittle." 

"Shore  dey  wus,"  Hitch  Diamond  answered. 
"Dey  wus  skeart  an'  I  wus  skeart  an'  eve'ybody 
wus  skeart — escusin'  you." 

"Dat  ole  airship  is  jes'  like  a  ole  dog  widout 
no  teeth — it  makes  a  lot  of  noise,  but  'tain't  no 
harm,"  Vinegar  said  complacently. 

Suddenly,  from  the  direction  of  the  setting  sun,  a 
long,  slanting  shadow  crossed  the  prairie  like  a  black 
knife  cutting  through  their  composure  and  leaving 
them  wide  open  to  the  terror  which  approached. 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  341 

The  airplane  was  advancing  upon  them,  appa- 
rently just  skirting  the  tops  of  the  trees,  and  the 
noise  of  the  exhaust  of  the  engine  was  deafening, 
terrifying,  nerve-racking,  a  sound  which  reminded 
these  country  negroes  of  nothing  so  much  as  a 
great  forest  fire  in  a  cane-brake  where  the  popping 
of  the  cane  is  like  the  musketry  of  battle.  They 
did  not  know  whether  to  run  or  lie  down  or  stand 
still,  but  finally  their  action  was  universal  and 
automatic — they  tumbled  over  on  the  ground  like 
a  lot  of  dead  geraniums  in  a  broken  pot.  All  of 
this  was  an  experience  so  entirely  new  to  them 
that  there  was  no  precedent ;  they  had  never  been 
along  that  path  before.  That  great  motor  sounded 
to  them  like  disease  and  death,  and  it  made  enough 
noise  to  make  a  snail  jump  through  a  barrel-hoop. 

But  there  is  one  thing  every  negro  can  do.  His 
fright  is  like  kerosene  poured  on  hot  coals :  it  goes 
up  in  vapor  and  goes  off  with  a  bang.  When  those 
explosive  sounds  began  to  prod  the  negroes  like 
hat-pins  running  into  their  ears,  they  began  to 
howl  and  pray,  and  from  five  or  six  hundred  throats 
there  arose  an  assorted  series  of  yells — they  sang 
a  long  scale  of  variegated  vociferations  of  fright — 
and  they  uttered  implorations  and  prayers,  and 
made  promises  to  the  God  of  heaven  in  return  for 
his  protection,  promises  which  they  could  not 
have  remembered  in  sober  moments,  much  less 
performed. 

As  the  machine  came  nearer  to  them  and  looked 


342  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

like  it  was  coming  down  to  the  ground  to  mow 
them  down  with  its  wide-spreading  wings,  five 
hundred  men,  women,  and  children  flattened  them- 
selves upon  the  ground,  uttered  a  farewell  gasp 
like  a  fish  dying  in  the  bottom  of  a  boat  and  prayed 
that  God  would  remove  all  rotundity  and  make 
them  as  flat  as  a  withered  leaf  to  meet  this  emer- 
gency that  was  upon  them. 

When  about  one  hundred  feet  above  the  ground 
the  aviator  tossed  out  of  the  machine  Hitch 
Diamond's  bag  of  cotton  waste.  Had  he  known 
the  contents  of  that  bag  he  would  have  tossed  it 
out  a  long  time  before.  During  all  his  stunts  in 
the  air  he  had  held  this  sack  of  worthless  cotton 
waste,  and  out  of  the  kindness  of  a  heart  that  was 
full  of  love  for  a  woman  he  had  returned  it  to  the 
rightful  owners. 

The  bag  landed  on  the  shoulders  of  Vinegar 
Atts.  Vinegar  merely  spread  out  like  a  busted 
bag  of  oats  and  sang  an  up-and-down  tune  of  as- 
sorted prayers  like  the  howling  of  a  hound  dog. 
After  a  long  time,  when  the  exhaust  of  the  engine 
sounded  far  away,  he  slowly  rose  up  like  a  mouse 
in  a  trap,  scared  and  begging  on  its  hind  legs. 

*  *  My  Gawd ! "  he  whooped.  ' '  I  had  a  powerful 
good  chance  fer  heaven  dat  time.  I'm  got  more 
lives  dan  a  litter  of  kittens!" 

Then,  seeing  the  bag  of  cotton  waste  on  the 
ground,  for  some  reason  he  got  the  notion  that 
Hitch  Diamond  had  hit  him  on  the  back  with  that 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  343 

bag.  He  picked  it  up  and  struck  Hitch  over  the 
head  with  it. 

Hitch  cautiously  raised  his  head  and  elevated 
his  face  toward  the  sky,  his  nose  wrinkled  up  like 
the  front  of  a  washboard.  The  airplane  was  far 
away.  He  slowly  turned  his  head  and  saw  Vinegar 
standing  beside  him  with  a  bag  of  cotton  waste 
in  his  hand.  His  eyes  stuck  out  like  the  buttons 
on  an  overcoat,  and  he  rose  from  the  ground  and 
started  for  Vinegar  with  a  bellow  of  rage  which 
had  made  him  famous  in  the  pugilistic  ring  in  the 
South. 

As  if  in  answer  to  a  signal  every  negro  rose  from 
the  ground  and  started  a  free-for-all  fight,  a  rough- 
and-tumble  affair  which  is  the  delight  of  the  darky 
and  generally  does  no  great  harm.  Men  and 
women  pushed  and  pounded  at  each  other,  and 
grunted,  and  slapped  faces,  and  wrestled,  bouncing 
chunks  of  wood  off  of  each  other's  heads  and  going 
after  each  other's  skin  like  they  were  working  by 
the  job  and  wanted  to  get  it  all  off  right  away. 

Then  a  few  not  participating  in  the  scrap  glanced 
up  and  pointed,  exclaiming:  "Look!    Look  dar!" 

Far  up  in  the  sunset  sky,  getting  smaller  and 
smaller  as  it  climbed,  the  beautiful  airplane  passed 
into  the  purple  and  gold  shadows  of  the  closing 
day  and  disappeared  from  their  sight. 

There  was  an  awed  silence  which  was  broken 
after  a  moment  by  the  snarling  voice  of  Pap: 
"Whar  is  dat  Red  Cutt  gone  at?'* 


344  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

**He*s  done  gone!"  dozens  of  voices  answered. 

**Did  he  hab  our  money  on  him?" 

*'Yep,  he  tuck  it  all!"  Vinegar  howled. 

*' I  said  I'd  make  dat  nigger  fly ! "  Pap  exclaimed. 
'*An'  now  he  has  done  flew!" 

"De  way  he  flew  is  de  only  way  he  could  fly," 
Skeeter  Butts  laughed.  "I'm  satisfied  in  my  mind 
dat  nigger  didn't  know  any  more  about  a  airship 
dan  a  dog  knows  about  a  white  shirt.  And  now 
he's  done  run  off  wid  my  dollar." 

"I  don't  keer,"  Vinegar  said.  "I  done  got  my 
dollar's  wuth  of  fun  outen  dat  machine,  an*  I  ex- 
peck  I'd  better  be  gittin'  back  to  town.  I'm  got 
to  preach  at  de  Shoofly  church  to-night." 

In  the  fight  which  had  occurred  the  bag  of 
cotton  which  the  aviator  had  dropped  from  his 
machine  had  been  torn  to  pieces  and  the  cotton 
scattered  all  over  the  prairie.  A  number  of  negro 
boys  amused  themselves  by  throwing  the  wads  of 
cotton  at  each  other  and  at  their  elders.  One 
negro  boy  picked  up  a  wad  and  hurled  it  at  the 
fat  stomach  of  the  Rev.  Vinegar  Atts. 

Vinegar  doubled  up  with  a  yell  of  pain,  and  then 
stooped  and  picked  up  something. 

It  was  a  buckskin  bag,  which  Vinegar  had  last 
seen  in  the  possession  of  Red  Cutt. 

' '  My  Gawd ! ' '  Hitch  Diamond  bellowed.  ' '  Ain't 
dat  our  bag  of  money?" 

With  trembling  fingers  Vinegar  untied  the  buck- 
skin bag  and  drew  out  a  large  number  of  soiled 


A  Chariot  of  Fire  345 

bills.  There  was  a  shout  of  delight  which  James 
Gannaway  could  have  heard  fifteen  thousand  feet 
in  the  air. 

''When  dat  nigger,  Red  Cutt,  climbed  up  into 
dat  machine,  he  hid  dat  money  in  my  sack  of  cot- 
ton," Hitch  howled,  "an'  now  we  done  get  it  all 
back.     Bless  Gawd!" 

So  it  was  a  happy  band  which  moved  slowly 
back  to  Tickfall.  Vinegar  Atts  forgetting  all 
about  his  automobile  walked  back  to  town  with 
the  others.  He  improvised  a  song  on  the  way 
which  he  taught  his  fellow  pilgrims.  The  chorus, 
repeated  many  times,  was  this : 

"  De  airships  fly  up  to  de  sky 
An'  circle  all  de  stars  around. 
While  yuthers  try  to  fly  on  high — 

Lawd,  keep  my  foots  on  solid  ground." 

When  they  had  sung  the  chorus  for  about  the 
first  time  there  was  great  excitement  in  Tickfall, 
four  miles  away. 

The  first  army  airplane  ever  seen  in  that  neigh- 
borhood flew  over  the  town,  and  every  man, 
woman,  and  child  was  looking  at  it.  The  aviator 
gave  an  exhibition  of  stunt  flying.  First,  a  series 
of  loops,  then  tail  slides,  then  what  he  would  have 
callled  a  "stall,"  a  maneuver  in  which  the  machine 
was  brought  to  a  dead  stop  after  reaching  the  apex 
of  an  upward  curve.     Then  he  did  side  slides  and 


346  A  Chariot  of  Fire 

nose  dives.  It  was  wonderful  to  the  people  of 
Tickfall  to  see  the  number  of  evolutions  that  pilot 
put  his  machine  through. 

There  were  all  kinds  of  funny  stunts,  and  that 
machine  cut  all  sorts  of  queer  figures  like  a  playful 
kitten  of  the  clouds. 

The  people  of  Tickfall  thought  that  he  was 
doing  all  of  that  for  them — but  they  were  greatly 
mistaken. 

Everything  James  Gannaway  did  was  a  message 
telling  a  certain  girl  that  all  was  well  with  him, 
that  he  would  return  to  the  aviation  camp  with  his 
own  beautiful  lie  and  her  beautiful  truth,  and  that 
he  anticipated  no  trouble  before  him.  Most  of 
all,  it  was  a  message  of  passionate  love  to  that  same 
girl,  who  now  sat  alone  in  her  buggy  on  a  sandy 
road  and  looked  up  at  the  airplane  with  eyes  that 
filled  with  tears  and  glowed  with  love  like  stars. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

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